


X-Writers: The Tangled Web

by marysiak



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Wolverine (Comics), X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Mojoworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 159,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the main arc of the X-Writers Universe in roughly the correct order of reading.</p><p>The X-Writers stories follow on from the following actual issues of Marvel comic books, so it might be advised to reread them before starting. Generation-X #7, Pryde and Wisdom LS, Gambit LS, Cable #24, X-Factor #115, Excalibur #90, X-Force #46, Wolverine #93, X-Men #45, X-Man #8, Uncanny X-Men #325</p><p>The X-Writers project ran from 1995-1996.</p><p>Some of these stories are anonymous as the authors have decided they no longer wish to have their names attached to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. X-Writers #0

X-Writers #0  
Written by: Rhonda  
Emma Frost Interlude -- written by Lee  
  
    It could have been a distant planet, populated by fuzzy  
green aliens.  Horrifically, it was Earth.  "How can anyone stand  
this place?" Beatrice thought, as she stepped over a bloody pile  
of corpses toward the duo by the shelter.  "All that aside, where  
the hell am I?"  
    Nathan and the mystery woman stood, back to back, surveying  
the mountains in both directions.  This ravaged village was located  
in a deep gorge, surrounded by rocky cliffs condescending even in  
nature to the men below.  Beatrice seemed at once in awe and in  
shock at the state of this planet.  The soil had withstood whatever  
battle had taken place here, for better or for worse, and it seemed  
as though Beatrice and her friend were here to pick up the pieces.  
    Recognizing him at once from his build as well as his  
demeanour, even amongst the shadows, Beatrice approached quickly,  
mumbling: Damn you, Blaquesmith. Cable turned his head and raised  
an eyebrow.  "What the?! What're you doing here, Dom?"  
    Finally Nathan's friend spoke.  "I did not bring her with  
us, Nathan. It must have been Blaquesmith's doing."  Nathan walked  
up to Domino, extending a hand.  "Welcome... to my home." And Domino  
let the hand slip.  
  
****  
  
    "Centre 3, on a decouv----" That is all that is heard through  
the screaming.  
    For the past few hours, that French search team had been  
responding to a report of magnetic activity in Secteur 6, suspecting  
mutant involvement.  Apparently, the research station's theory was  
accurate.  The team was struck down by a mutant wielding amazing  
control of magnetism, reports would suggest.  Their body-suits --  
the sole defence against the raging cold of Antarctica -- were ripped  
apart, along with their frame, by a massive attack that could  
only lead to three known mutants:  Polaris, Zaladane, and Magneto.  
    The first being an agent of America's government-sponsored  
X-Factor, the second appearing very dead among the rubble of a fallen  
Savage Land citadel, the identity of the perpetrator was evident.  
    Meanwhile, as the world speculated, a frost-bitten white-haired  
body was dragged away from the scene.  
  
****  
  
    A scarlet figure, enveloped in a purple cape; helmet  
glittering in the light.  Where is the light coming from? Lorna  
thought.  
    She woke up suddenly; the nightmare had shaken her.  Alone  
in bed, with Alex still in Alaska, Lorna wrapped a sheet around her  
and walked toward the window.  The night air was so unwelcoming, she  
thought.  She opened the window and stood by it, considering everything  
that had happened.  
    "Jamie... Guido... Rahne... and now Alex... everyone I care  
about has fallen so low," she mutters to herself, shifting positions.  
Returning to bed, she remembered her dream, one so similar to a chain  
of dreams that she had had for months.  Had it been years?  
    No longer would she shrug it off.  
  
****  
  
    Another dreamer in paradise; in the arms of one who loves  
him.  Kwannon and Bishop, in a warm embrace.  Her lips touched his  
and he honestly felt as though he couldn't be happier.  Yet, in  
the back of his conscious mind, he knew what a dark world it was  
and he stopped...  
    Bishop felt someone touch his shoulder and jumped, opening  
his eyes to see Kwannon herself.  Or did she call herself Elizabeth  
now?  The time-traveller's disorientation, his confusion, and his  
utter innocence were exposed for one of the first times in his life.  
How ironic that it was Betsy who should find him in such a state.  
    She calmly placed a hand on his, so tense.  "I heard you.  
You sounded..." Bishop maintained his composure, but felt a warmth  
to his cheeks, as though he were blushing.  
    "I'm...quite fine, Elizabeth," he muttered.  But his eyes  
could not leave her gaze and, when she hopelessly left the room,  
her image did not abandon his memory.  Not for a long time, until  
he fell asleep again, and not even then.  
  
****  
  
    Police flooded the scene, collecting evidence, making  
observations, taking photographs.  WARC-TV reporters, demanding a  
look-see, were denied any such liberty.  "The media will get a fair  
shot at this situation," promised a spokeswoman, "but, please,  
let these officers do their jobs."  
    This murder reflected more on society than on the individual  
responsible.  A couple killed, their nine-month-old baby resting  
noisily in his carriage -- a society permitted this, manipulated such  
a situation.  Yet the law persisted in prosecuting the accused, often  
faced with failure.  How beautiful America is.  
    Charlotte Jones was the first homicide detective to be called  
in, if only because one of the deceased was her partner.  Tears  
flooded her eyes, but she quickly wiped all sorrow away and faced  
the others stoically, eager to bring this murder to resolution.  
Indeed, this death was not the first in her 'family'; her husband  
had been killed years earlier, another tragedy that she could not  
soon forget.  
    "Oh God..." she muttered as she saw the corpses wheeled  
away by the coroner.  "I'm sorry, Charlotte... The captain'll  
understand if you can't do this," Detective Hidalgo sympathized,  
rather seriously.  Jones simply shook her head.  "No, it's my case,  
my partner... It's my responsibility." And the mystery would unravel  
slowly... and more death would follow.  
  
****  
  
    "'...and the Friends of Humanity will continue to serve  
the men and women of this nation because we see what the mutant  
threat, their disease and their powers, have done to our society.  
Ask not what America can do for you, but what you can do for  
you country.  What better way than to end the carnage that Homo  
Superior has caused by their very presence?' That was Graydon  
Creed, founder of the Friends of Humanity, at the Ellison  
Banquet in Washington, D.C. this evening, announcing his official  
plans to run for President in 1996.  
    "In other news: Kirkland, Wyoming was rattled this morning  
as restaurateur Frederick Hines was attacked at his Palm Cafe.  
One suspect has been identified as Cain Marko, better known as the  
dangerous Juggernaut, who was recorded entering the restaurant----"  
    The television, computer screen, lights, and clock blink  
ed off simultaneously, instantly turning back on.  Robert Kelly  
heard a scream from the doorway to his study, where his daughter  
knelt, fingers gripping the doorway for support.  
    "Jesus... What happened, Jessica?" His fourteen-year-old  
daughter said nothing but slowly gazed up at the senator. She only  
muttered under her breath, apparently in pain and particularly in  
shock.  
    Finally speaking, her words neither calmed nor  
resolved the situation.  "It hurt me... I don't know what happened,  
but it hurt, Daddy." Robert helped her up and to a chair, promising  
to her that he'd help her figure out what'd gone wrong.  But he  
already feared the worst.  
  
****  
  
    "...Juggernaut, who was recorded entering the restaurant.  
The video camera was destroyed, however, so the later events  
of that time are uncertain.  No witnesses saw anything news-worthy.  
    "In Philadelphia, an industrial break-in led to possible  
mutant activity, reports the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  The  
Brand Corporation was broken into, allegedly, though there are  
currently no suspects. Whereas the FBI believe that theft was the  
prime motivation, another party speculates----"  
    The old woman at Tel Aviv International Airport pouted and  
screamed, "NO! Those fools... they don't know who they're dealing  
with!" Causing quite the scene, she glanced around her and pulled  
the hat lower over her wrinkled nose.  The harsh Arabic-accented  
voice muttered, "They don't know who I am..." A wry smile crossed  
her lips.  
  
****  
  
    Emma Frost, known for so long as the infamous White Queen  
of the Hellfire Club, realized that she was doomed.  
    She glanced around the room she reclined in, thinking how it  
was only yesterday that her whole life had gone exactly as her  
10 Year At A Glance Calendar indicated.  White Queen -- it had taken  
her many long years of hard, painstaking work, but, finally, she  
reached the top.  Well, the top of that ladder, anyway.  
    Now though?  Well, now here she was, her precious Massachusetts  
Academy converted to Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters, and she  
was in charge, yet again, or a group of young, inexperienced mutants.  
Truth be told, she wanted nothing to do with this group, no, not  
at all.  Well... maybe a little.  Maybe she wanted to make amends  
for her children, her Hellions.  Maybe she wanted to see this group,  
these young children, make it.  Maybe... just maybe... Xavier was  
right.  Maybe his way was the One True Path.  Maybe...  
    She didn't have much time here in Sean's house, where she  
was currently living, before she was interrupted.  Two children  
walked up the front steps and knocked, politely, on Sean's screen  
door.  Her body tenses unwittingly, but she managed to say,  
    "What do you want, children?"  
    One of the boys, the more dominant one, stepped forward.  
She quickly signalled him to stop and remain outside of the house.  
He looked dejected for a second, but quickly covered it.  
    "Leech and Artie want to visit their friends. They want  
to go to the X-Men's home."  Leech's smile was bright and innocent,  
innocent as all children were at that young stage and with his  
background.  No well, he was the last of the Morlocks, the strange  
and disfigured collection of mutants living in the sewers of  
New York City.  Certainly not the best place to live, so it was  
more amazing that he was still so naive, still so capable  
of enjoying life.  
    He waited for her to respond.  His partner and best friend,  
Artie, created a hologram above him.  It was a scene of Upper  
New York in fall.  Tall trees presided stately over their respective  
streets or gardens, and the leaves were everywhere.  It was a  
heat-wrenching scene, though she didn't take it into consideration  
at all.  She knew that place, and of course she knew what they  
wanted.  
    "Well," she said, pausing deliberately.  Her gaze fell from  
one to the other before she finally decided to press on.  "I can see  
what you want, and, if we can arrange it, I will escort you to  
the mansion."  
    The young boys grinned wide, their joy unable to be held  
back.  They hopped and jumped in place, their arms flung out wide to  
the world.  Leech quickly said,  
    "Leech and Artie thank you, White Queen!"  
    She tuned her eyes to heaven and let out a sigh.  They were  
so genuinely happy, cavorting about in their overwhelming display  
of emotion.  Her gaze returned to them and she almost hated  
herself for what she had to do.  She almost told them that they couldn't  
go, that they couldn't see their friends, and that they couldn't  
comfort their friends in their time of need.  She almost told them  
to stop it, that she was only going to use them for her own  
ends, no matter how unselfish those ends might actually be  
this time.  
    Almost...  
  
****  
  
    "He who hath the foresight to make me what I am, he  
who hath the power to undue what I have become."  
    The immortal, pained Bloodscream held the boy's neck  
firmly in his grip, squeezing viciously.  "The necromancer...  
your father informs me that this merlin doth live in Madripoor,  
High Town.  Feeding off his destitute victims' riches.  Off  
mine own life!" The boy's blood trickled down his left cheek,  
paving a crimson line from his slit eyelid to his chin.    
Bloodscream ran his nail along that path, and licked the blood.  
"I feed off your life, as he hath fed off mine."  
    The fishing ship sailed slowly through the rippled ocean,  
destination -- Madripoor.  Bloodscream wanted an end put to  
his own misery; whether the end result be power or death was of  
no consequence.  
  
****  
  
    San Francisco nights.  The fog lay quietly on the bay,  
providing that infamous air of mystery that romantics live off  
of.  Vanessa quickly got into her car, starting it anxiously.  
Driving off into a world that had never expected anything from  
her, she wanted to surprise everyone.  
    Garrison didn't know that she'd left him.  Right now, he  
was sleeping on the couch.  They'd been arguing -- again.  He had  
little more than Cable and the future on his mind, having never  
forgotten his time spent fighting the Canaanites.  She had little  
more than Cable and Tolliver and her past on hers and now, faced  
with more drive than ever, she determined to put it all behind her  
through brute force and cunning.  
    Looking ahead, all she saw was mist.  And then a woman,  
a blond woman.  On closer look, she did not recognize her but  
noticed the spandex and technology and knew it meant trouble.  
Beside the mystery woman stood a black man, in similar apparel,  
aiming his hand at Vanessa's moving car.  
    Vanessa tried to swerve... the situation had caught  
her completely by surprise. Before she could react further, she  
felt a brilliant light against her.  She felt the air currents  
around her heat up, and twist, and she was twisted with them,  
pulled into a portal along with her car, in a radiant flash...  
    When she awoke in what might have been only ten seconds  
later, she found herself in the desert.  A might, dark shadow  
stood over the car, smashing in the roof quite suddenly.  Vanessa  
squirmed and tried to move, but a hand reached in and grabbed  
her by the collar, pulling her through the hole in the roof of  
the car.  
    She screamed and glanced at her attacker's face.  It was  
not that of her attackers in San Francisco.  Rather he was a man  
she had once faced in New York City, along with X-Force at the  
World Trade Center.  The man was Cain Marko.  "Well... who the  
hell are you, lady?  Where the HELL am I??"  
  
****  
  
    Zoe Culloden and her partner faded out, setting the  
cloaking device on.  "The gateway's closed... well done. Time to  
call it in."  Adjusting a dial on her communicator, she spoke  
into it.  "Ophrah, Team 1 reporting."  
    A whiny voice on the other end said rapidly, "Target  
acquired successfully.  Marko and Carlysle are safe and sound.  
It's hunting time again."  
    "Who's it this time? Do we go after the X-Man yet?"  
Culloden's friend inquired.  
    "Another operative will take the X-Man.  Your next and  
if successful, last test target is Wilson.  Get that mercenary  
and your contract is expired," the voice reported.  
    Culloden grinned and nodded.  "Alright, his coordinates?"  
The coordinates were fed into Culloden's database.  "Right... we'll  
port over and have him within minutes. You just tell Mr. Gideon  
to get the cheque ready for deposit."  
    The other voice chuckles and a resonant click is heard.  
"Let's go, hombre. I just want to get this job over with." Zoe  
opened another gateway and the two were  
sucked in.  Destination:  A quiet little mental institution in  
Vermont.  Target:  Deadpool.  



	2. X-Force #47

X-Writers Presents...  
  
X-Force #47  
Written by:  Rhonda  
  
** X-WRITERS is an electronic mailing list, dedicated to X-Men fan **  
** fiction.  The owner of the X-characters' copyright (Marvel) has **  
** not given us permission to use their property.  Please forgive  **  
** us, Marvel! *big hug*  We mean no harm in the use of these      **  
** characters; we merely mean to have @fun.  X-Writers is a non-   **  
** profit organization and is not sponsored by any other person,   **  
** organization, MUSH, or other.  Oh, and we're flat broke so just **  
** forget about it.                                                **  
  
PLEASE NOTE: All X-Writer stories may be cross-posted, distributed  
via e-mail, or any other medium within reason.  We do ask, though, that  
both Rhonda (editor) and the individual writer(s) of the given story  
be contacted before/aforehand, with all information pertaining to their  
current whereabouts. Ok? =)  
  
  
    Charles Xavier would have run a hand through his hair, if  
he had any.  
    As his five original students counselled him, the professor  
considered every available option.  Calvin Rankin was stirring again,  
after a long absence.  Once thought dead, the most uncontrollable   
mutant ever to call himself an X-Man was back. The mutant named Mimic.  
    "We did what we could to stop him, sir," Roberto added. He  
interrupted the silence of the room, creating an even more awkward  
atmosphere.  His two teammates, Caliban and Warpath, flocked to his   
side, rather quiet themselves.  Jean sighed and leaned on her husband's  
shoulder.  Warren and Bobby sat on the couch by the fireplace of  
Xavier's study.  
    Caliban spoke sincerely.  "Is Power-Thief an enemy of Professor  
Xavier?" Xavier shook his head, "No, Caliban, once he was not. Mimic  
was another mutant in need, _dire_ need perhaps more than any other I   
have encountered.  His once-temporary mutations, assuming the powers  
and mutated physical characteristics of those around him, seem to  
have become permanent.  SO with the power at his disposal, he must  
be dealt with cautiously.  But no, he's not an enemy... he's in pain."  
    "We have to reason with him, Professor," Hank interjected.  
"I've dealt with Mimic almost more than anyone else; I can try to get  
through to him, to bring him back to the mansion..."  
    Warpath retorted, "Why? So he can steal everyone else's  
powers too?" Hank sighed.  "No, James.  Because he needs help. We can  
slap a power restrainer on him, or glue Leech to his back. The point  
is that he has no one else.  Isn't that what we're here for?"  
    The thought of Sabretooth crawling around the Danger Room  
entered everyone's mind.  The fear of him getting loose again was  
terrifying, so frightening that they tried to shut it out, but could  
not.  
    "I'll consider a course of action, children," Charles said  
meaningfully, suggesting that the younger ones should leave the room.  
Warpath raised an eyebrow almost contemptuously, walking slowing toward  
the door.  Berto and Caliban nodded together, though, and proceeded  
after Jimmy.  
  
****  
    Shatterstar knew little about love. He was learning rather  
quickly.  
    "Thirty - Love!" Betsy shouted from the other side of the net.  
"Let's go, Shatterstar. You look like a pro!" Shatterstar's game to   
serve.  Tossing the ball in the air, he slammed into it gracefully.  
    Betsy laughed in astonishment.  "I thought you were a rookie."  
Shatterstar simply grinned pompously and noted, "I have always found  
that coordination is the least of my problems."  
    Another watched their game, chuckling in amusement.  "Hey, 'Star,  
you pullin' one over on Betsy?" Sam Guthrie was never 'into' tennis.  
Growing up a baseball fan, he had found little opportunity to play any  
sport with his hectic (and dangerous) lifestyle.  "Better watch out,  
or her beau'll come after you."  
    Shatterstar stood confidantly, tossing his racket in the air,  
recatching it by reflex as it plunged back toward the pavement. He  
bore a more serious air, as he said, "Mr. Worthington does not  
frighten me.  His wings may be deadly, and he a skilled warrior, but  
years of training with Xavier never compare to a life of experience in  
the stadium of blood-thirsty, ratings-grabbing, spineless..."  
    Sam raised an eyebrow.  "'Star... you ranting?" Never had his  
friend shown any remote sign of... well... of a personality. "I'm  
impressed."  
    Betsy wiped the sweat from her forward with a spare towel  
on a bench.  "You know, Samuel, you ought to join us next time. I could  
always fit in another 'student'," she said, almost condescendingly. As  
she patted him on the shoulder and walked past him, toward the mansion,  
Sam followed her, leaving Shatterstar behind to put away the rackets.  
    "Whassup with Warren, Betsy? Ah mean, you guys are together  
now, right?" Sam prodded.  Betsy nodded slowly. He continued, "It just  
seems strange, Doug being back an' all, an' I don't think you've talked  
about him once. Or even called 'im."  
    Betsy gently took Sam's arm. "There is no part of Doug in  
that 'boy', Samuel. Douglock is a sentient, animate techno-creature,  
imitating Douglas' form. Mocking our memories of him... not deliberately,  
granted, but I feel no due responsability to visit him, or even to  
speak to him."  
    "How d'ya even know that?" he persisted.  
    "Samuel... Sam, I didn't love Douglas, even when I was with him,  
nor did he love me.  Admittedly we were the strangest match-up imaginable.  
But I know him well, and care for him. Even in Australia, I felt that he  
was gone. I could feel his absence, just as I felt Kwannon's when she  
died.  And I do not feel him now... there is no doubt in my mind  
that Doug Ramsey is dead." With those words, she walked quickly into  
the mansion, offering no second glance.  Sam was only left with his  
own memories, and doubts of what to believe now.  
  
****  
    "Caliban's friends!" The now-purple Caliban ran toward the   
trio.  
    Sally 'Skids' Blevins, Artie, and Leech embraced Caliban tenderly.  
Almost at once, Leech was on his old friend's shoulders, covering his  
eyes.  "Cali? Leech and Artie missed you..." Artie held onto Caliban's  
left leg, stepping on his toes and snuggling closely with him. Skids  
offered a fast hug, but maintained more distance.  
    "What bothers Skids?" Caliban asked, puzzled.  Artie and Leech  
look up instantly, their innocent and loving eyes examining Skids'  
troubled face.  She hadn't had a chance to tell them yet.  
    "It's... it's Rusty, guys..." Artie could tell from the expression  
on her face that the news was not good. But he remained optimistic,  
still smiling though not as widely.  
    Leech too remained hopeful, hardly predicting what Skids was  
going to say:  "He died... he was killed by some psychopath... he's dead."  
    The oafish Caliban still didn't understand; he still didn't  
get it. "But Fireman will be back, yes?" Skids shook her head, tears   
rolling down her cheeks now.  Caliban slumped and Leech clung onto his  
neck tighter.  
    Only Artie mustered a word, so to speak.  The image that he  
projected was that of Rusty on a winter day, back in the X-Terminators,  
wards of X-Factor, tickling him and laughing.  Artie smiled at that  
and let go of Caliban's arm and scooted over to Skids, pulling her  
down by her belt toward the ground.  
    There, on the slightly-wet grass, he lept into her lap and planted  
an unexpected kiss on her cheek and giggled, looking again at the   
memory-fragment of Rusty.  Leech, who was also now crying, smiled as  
well and leaped off of Caliban toward Skids.  
    Only Caliban was clueless, and feeling utterly alone. But the  
others cuddled for a long while, realizing they didn't have to mourn  
the passing a friend. They could just be happy for what they had left.  
  
****  
    "You and I are very much alike, my friend," she suggested  
caringly after a long, uninterrupted silence.  
    He grunted.  
    "Years ago, I nearly lost myself in my sorrow; reverted  
to a darker side than I care to remember.  Men and women had called me  
Goddess; I had been loved and admired... I had been... worshipped. But  
Callisto, and Yukio, and Forge, and even you changed me. And with  
the loss of my powers, my morality sunk low," Ororo recalled. "After  
months of deliberation and clawing determination, I coped. Finally,  
I am a mesh of those qualities which I most respect in both, both  
goddess and thief, lover and vindicator. You need the same sense of  
security.  You must------"  
    With that, Ororo was pushed aside as Logan raced out of the  
woods, where they had stood for nearly half an hour, toward the mansion  
with an unprecedented, impulsive response.  "Logan!" Getting to her  
feet, she summoned a wind to carry her after her fallen friend.  
    "What is...?" she thought, until she saw the cause of his  
anxiety.  Sabretooth was free.  
  
****  
    Earlier, Tabitha had given a much-needed pep-talk to the one  
some called Mr. Creed. "Ok, now, here's the thing: You haveta prove  
to Prof. X that you've got that 'be good' attitude that he's looking  
for... Stop that!" She had smacked the back of Creed's butt. He had been  
licking her kneecap; Tabitha had giggled and continued.  
        "Just don't make me regret doing this, ok? I know you'll be  
great... go get'em tiger," she had encouraged him. Apparently, she hadn't  
expected the poor reception that her troubled friend would encounter  
outside.  
    Logan raced against the wind, catching his vicious enemy's scent   
in the air, just a whiff; Storm raced with the wind, worried for her   
friend's safety and sanity. The scene, attracting more attention still,  
drew Caliban, who created great fear in Sabretooth's eye with his  
own mutant ability.  
    Sabretooth, unleashed, clenched onto Tabitha's hand as Logan  
charged him.  Shaking in terror, in large part due to Caliban's intense  
application of his power, he cringed as Logan leaped onto his chest  
and Tabitha jumped aside in shock.  Victor kicked Logan off of him  
in reflex just as Sam rocketted on scene, placing his hands in a very firm  
grip on Victor's throat, flying him into a stone wall of the mansion.  
    Sam's grip tightened with one hand, as he prepared the other  
one inches away from Victor's face to smash him in.  But as Caliban  
and Logan approached, a small time-bomb exploded at their feet and  
they fell back.  "Stop it, you big jerks!" Tabitha screeched.  "What  
the hell's the matter with you, Sam?!"  
    A mental voice emanated through everyone's head. "Yes, Tabitha,  
an interesting question. But I'm more concerned about what Creed is  
doing loose."  It was Professor Xavier's way of stopping a growing  
violent situation.  Exiting the back patio door of the mansion with  
Jean, Scott, Warren, Hank, and Bobby, Charles had a rather grim expression  
on his face.  
    Tabitha released Victor from Sam's grip, placing the former's  
hand in hers. Caliban did not turn off his fear-inducing power though,  
and Tabitha threw him a furious glare.  "Tabitha, you are hardly in a  
position to complain," the Professor suggested severely.  Turning to the  
others, he said, "Please leave me with Sam and Tabitha. Ororo, make sure  
that Sabretooth returns to the Danger Room immediately."  
    Ororo grabbed Sabretooth by the arm and led him cautiously into  
the mansion.  She could hear Professor Xavier's mental voice tell her,  
"And, of course, get him back on leash and muzzle. I'll talk to Tabitha."  
Ororo nodded meaningfully and walked, with Caliban and Sabretooth,   
indoors.  
    As the others started to disperse, Charles eyed them all   
thoughtfully.  He turned first to Tabitha.  "This breach of security is  
inexcusable, Boomer." Tabitha nodded. "You realize that, had Caliban  
not been at the mansion, Sabretooth might have escaped?"  
    "No, sir, I hadn't realized that..." she said. After a long  
silence, in which all three were thinking, she added more forcibly,  
"But I don't think you understand where he's coming from, or me for that  
matter. I mean, c'mon! Logan really pulled something nasty with him.  
He's been through hell already, can't he have a bit of freedom in this  
place?"  
    The Professor sighed. "Is that really what this incident  
reflected? Your desire for Sabretooth to have 'fun'?"  
    "Yeah, that too... What I meant was... jeez, how do I say  
this... what I meant was that Victor's different, or he can be. But  
how's he ever gonna be good if you treat him so badly?" she pleaded.  
    "I accepted Sabretooth to the mansion with the intention of  
returning him to Valerie Cooper when his therapy was over. Not to knight  
him, Boomer. Creed has committed horrible crimes in the name of  
personal satisfaction. I seriously wish you'd reconsider your friendship  
with him..." Charles said.  
    "On top of that, Tabitha, he's psychotic! He's dangerous n'  
he's only going to hurt ya... why can't ya see that?" Sam questioned.  
    Tabitha ignored Sam's words and lowered her head. "Well, the  
therapy's working wonders... I think I'm gettin' through to him, if  
you'd just give me a chane.." Charles shook his head. "Not this kind  
of chance, Tabitha. Not with the risk involved; I'm sorry."  
    "Yeah, so'm I," she gulped and walked back inside without  
another word.  Completely avoiding Sam's glances throughout the   
confrontation, distraught over his distrust of her and his hatred of  
Sabretooth, she slowly proceeded down the corridor toward the front  
stairs.  
    From behind her, she head "Ah chere, boy X-Man troublin'  
you?"  
    "Leave me alone, Gambit." She kept walking, increasing her  
pace, but the cajun stayed close behind her.  
    "Cannonball be right, Boomer. Creed's a dangerous man, you  
oughta stay away from him."  
    "I can totally take care of myself. I really don't need  
your advice."  
    "Fine then, chere. I won't push you to see the truth about the  
man, 'cause I know it never ends well." She stopped and turned around,  
arms at her waist, seeming more calm now.  
    Tabitha sighed. "Yeah, I heard about Rogue; you okay with that?"  
    Gambit grinned weakly. "Not quite. But it's over, y'know?" He  
walked past Tabitha, whispering as he went by, "But it was worth it.  
Was Sam?" He reached the front door when she said, "Never said it was over  
with me and Sam, Remy. I just----"  
    "----said it was over, right?" He grinned. "I can tell a broken  
heart when I see one. Always the other girl, or the other guy. Funny,  
never could see what the girls liked about Creed." Tabitha raised an  
eyebrow.  
    "You talk as if you knew him, Cajun."  
    He kept his hand on the doorknob, "Yeah, long time ago...   
Wanna go for a ride, chere?"  
    Tabitha cleared her throat. "Ummm... a ride?"  
    Gambit grinned. "Yeah, I'm goin' into the city and could use  
some company. Just a road trip, nothin' more."  
    She blushed and walked forward. "Oh, okay..." He opened the  
door for her and they were off.  
  
****  
    The Weisman Institute for the Criminally Insane -- near   
Rutland, Vermont.  
    Theresa Rourke scanned the computer files once more, waiting  
for her lift. "Jeremy Stevens..." she muttered. The name haunted her,  
that of a little boy only ten years old, imprisoned in this "One Flew  
Over The Cuckoo's Nest" rip-off.  What had the boy done to deserve this  
hell?  
    She decided to find out. After downloading the computer files  
to the floppy disk, which had been stored in her gown, she slowly opened  
the door to the office and peeker her head outside. "Hullo? No one   
home," she thought, smiling only slightly, and nearly crawled down the  
corridor, glancing at the labels on the doors.  
    She sighed as she noticed the label "Stevens, J." on a pale,  
rotten door and glanced through the peep-hole. A boy sat curled up in   
the far corner, a single beam of moonlight shining through the grated   
window over his face.  A large silhouette stood over him like a demon.  
"Jeremy Stevens.  Perfect." The voice seemed sophisticated, so Theresa  
was surprised to see Dr. Rasminsky, the female doctor, standing by  
the opposite wall when she opened the door.  
    The orderly looked at her and grinned sinisterly.  Indeed, he  
    Dr. Rasminsky looked at her and grinned sinisterly. Indeed, she  
provided no defense. Theresa took her down easily, even with the  
power-neutralizer and the sedatives in place.  "That was almost too  
easy..." she thought, grabbing the keychain on the doctor's belt buckle  
and walking quickly toward the boy.  
    Jeremy did not look up. Single strands of brown hair rested on  
his cheeks, sweat running down his forehead.  A meager boy, so thin,  
and obviously poorly cared for.  Seeing him, so obviously traumatized,  
Theresa felt no compassion for these 'doctors' and even less regret  
for helping Jeremy escape.  
    She helped him up, but had to hold him on his feet as he was  
so weak and disoriented.  "Jesus, how much of that crap did they fill  
ye up with, lad?" she groaned, leading him to the doorway. As she and  
Jeremy made their way down the dark corridor, however, she head  
a loud crashing sound.. or was it an explosion?  
    From behind her.  A crimson figure, masked yet silhouetted in  
the strangely misty corridor, was crouched on the floor. The crazies of  
the house started howling at the excitement.  "Woooooooooooo!" and  
other screams of terror and delight created an eery overtone. And  
when the figure raced toward the duo, Siryn nearly screamed hersel,  
so unable to defend herself.  
    "Babe, nice flat you got yourself here!" a loud-mouthed,  
obnoxious male said rapidly.  
    Siryn grinned. "'Bout time ye got here, Wade; as ye can imagine,  
I got myself quite the headache." She wrapped her arm around Jeremy's  
waist and dragged him along the corridor closer to Wade, who then helped  
them both back the way he had gotten in.  
    "You! Stop right there... No out-patients allowed." Dr. Rasminsky  
was up again, and laughing sadistically, aiming a revolver at them from  
the other end of the hallway.  "What the..?!" Theresa thought. "Not  
quite kosher for a doctor to come after ye with a firearm..."  
    Siryn had no time to react. Deadpool, as usual, did. Instinctively  
drawing a flashy pistol, he aimed, grinned, and fired. The bullet   
ricochet off the doctor's weapon, forcing her to drop it. She scowled.  
    "Nice service, this here dump-hole has," Deadpool remarked,  
smirking as usual. And with that, the trio exited stage left.  
  
****  
    Greenwhich Village.  Or, more specifically, the Passionate  
Gaze.  Home of the greatest and hottest dancers in the world and a   
popular night-spot for those less gifted in the 'performing arts'.  
"I'm not too fond o' these places, chere," Remy told Tabitha, glancing  
around.  
    "Yeah, you're probably into the secluded pubs, eh? Surprises  
me..." she was already pretty darned tipsy.  
    "Why's that?" he asked.  
    Tabitha ordered another Jack Daniels to ease the tension,   
crossing her fingers that the bartender wouldn't card her.  As it turned  
out, he couldn't have cared less. "Oh, you like people... women, I   
guess. Definitely a looker... I mean, you like doin' the looking," she  
said, clumsily.  
    "You alright, chere?" he smiled.  
    She ignored that, blushing slightly. "Get a grip, girlfriend!"  
she thought to herself.  
    Remy was thinking about no one other than Rogue. Feeling so   
alone, even among the hordes of people surrounding him, flirting  
with him, he could only drown himself in bitterness and try to get on  
with his life.  If only he knew where she was, of course, he would find  
her and convince her that she could trust him again... if only he  
could muster the courage to tell her the full truth...  
    "So tell me, Cajun, what was life like 'fore you put on the   
spandex?" Tabitha grinned, desperately trying to change the topic of  
conversation.  
    Remy altered it even further. "Let's talk about somethin' else,  
'kay Tabitha? I'm really not in the mood to dwell on the past."  
    "You talk as if your life at the mansion' over, Remy," she noted,  
moving a bit closer on the stool. "Look, I don't have too many men  
fawning over me, I'll admit. I'm no Ricki Lake or Dr. Brothers or  
nothin', no love-wizardess, BUT..." Gambit could tell that a big 'but'  
was coming on.  
    "But," she continued predictably, "I do know when you haveta let  
someone go. Sam and I are still together, 'technically'. Really, though,  
we've been apart for weeks. And it's never going to get better, at least  
that's how it looks now."  
    "So Victor really has won your heart over, chere?" he persisted.  
    Tabitha shrugged. "Never mind.. I thought we weren't going to  
talk about Victor either."  
    "Then let's not talk 'bout Rogue either.  Just don't say anythin'  
chere and enjoy the company." Case closed. Suddenly, Tabitha felt a light  
tap on her shoulder and she looked behind her, and then slightly down.  
A short black-haired girl stood there, meakly, so thin and even innocent,  
peering up at Tabitha. SHe could have been no less than sixteen, but  
grungily dressed.  
    "Oh... My... God! Girlfriend!" Tabitha screamed and hugged the  
girl, whose expression was that of pure joy. Wearing a bright-red leather  
jacket and a rather flimsy dress of the same colour, she looked rather  
tacky, hardly someone that Tabitha would associate herself with. Not  
that Tabitha was Ms. Class either.  
    "Hey Tabs! Whassup?" the girl inquired, giving Gambit the  
eye. "This that guy you ran off with?"  
    Tabitha couldn't help giggling. "Naw, this isn't him. Jeez..."  
she checked the girl out. "Ummm, yeah, Remy, meet Vickie. Vickie -- Remy."  
    "Pleasure, chere," remy said to the girl, who melted.  
    Vickie and Tabitha went on to small-talk, the old times, old  
jokes, old friends. Together with another girl, they had once made up a  
gang, a family -- for girls only. Tabitha had left the gang several   
years earlier when she hooked up with the Beyonder, who was the 'guy'  
that Vickie had referred to.  
    And then, they got into what Vickie was doing now. "Nothing really,  
Tabitha. We're just doing.. the old stuff, really. Whatever it takes,  
right?"  
    Tabitha nodded. "Whatever it takes."  
    "Rhonda's love to see you, girl!" Vickie lit up, picturing this  
four-year old fantasy of hers -- the girls meeting again for the first  
time in years.  
    The Bloody Babes... the gang seemed so distant, Tabitha thought.  
She was now so far removed from it, actually doing something important  
rather than just looting for the hell of it. But she'd wished for quite  
a while that she'd taken these girls with her when she left. Maybe now  
she'd be able to follow up on that. "Sure, you mind taggin' along, Remy?"  
Tabitha inquired giddily.  
    Remy shook his head. "I don' mind; could use the fresh air."  
    Together they pushed their way through the drunken crowd to  
the cooling Village air, and Remy of course lit another cigarette,  
wishing Rogue were with him instead.  
  
****  
    The three crawled through the tall grass, as quickly as they could.  
Pale, automnal colours graced the scene, as the moonlight shone down  
on them and the trees around them. The silence, almost disturbing, was  
suddenly broken by a wail of sirens. A spotlight from behind the trio  
lit up and scoured the countryside.  Terry looked back for a moment  
and groaned.  
    Deadpool laughed.  "They're pretty eager, eh?" Theresa shook her  
head and pulled Jeremy faster along the ground.  She had her arm around  
the boy's waist, as Deadpool helped her. Rather the incompetent team.  
And meanwhile, throughout all this chase and  
chaos, all Siryn could consider was what was really going on in that   
institution.  
    The Weisman Institute's search lights closed in on them, from  
two directions. Dogs and security were sent out, across the fields owned  
by the institute. Up ahead, Deadpool saw the metallic fence over which he'd  
come and, on the other side, his ride back to the city. "Damn, these  
freaks----" Terry shot Wade a bad look. "Yeahyeah, I'll shuddap."  
    Running, as fast as one sedated could, Theresa was suddenly hit in  
the back with some form of energy beam. She turned around quickly, not  
by choice, catapulted into a portal of sorts, taken on a dizzying ride.  
Wade screamed out until he and Jeremy were sucked into the portal as well,  
but he noticed two spandex-clad figures in the shadows, one smiling rather  
widely.  
    As the portal closed, the smiling figure reset the cloaking   
mechanism. "Y'see, Art. No problem. And now we can get that big  
paycheck." The black man nodded and recalibrated the gear. The two then  
disappeared in a new gateway, as the dogs squealed by the spot, sniffing  
madely at the end of the trail.  
  
****  
    "I told you it was nuthin' really..." Vickie said, very weakly.  
    Tabitha stood in shock at the sight of her old home.  The waterfront  
warehouse where the Bloody Babes had once hung out, before the Fallen  
Angels even, had been effectively turned into... a whorehouse, of all things.  
    "What... the hell..." she glanced around at the cheap women,   
gracing orange and pink leather couches and mounting men of all ages.  
Several doors, and one set of stairs heading down, led to different rooms.  
For private parties, Remy could imagine. He was taking this rather easily.  
Life with Candra offered many odd insights into just how corrupt today's  
youth is. But Tabitha didn't take it hardly as well.  
    Walking slowly past the first couple, noting each individual's  
face for recognition, she was stunned to actually know some of these people.  
"Vickie... Remy, it wasn't like this when I left... Vickie!" she said  
in a nervous anger.  
    Vickie knew, even back at the Passionate Gaze, that Tabitha's  
reaction would be far from receptive.  Tabitha and the Babes had been  
petty thieves, but besides that they were average adolescents. And Tabitha  
had been protective of all of them.  "Look, Tabs..."  
    Tabitha just wasn't listening anymore, once she saw the individual  
walk down the stairs.  His name, to most everyone, was the Vanisher and  
he was dressed for success. Wearing a silk Armani suit, sporting some  
flashy shades, he cruised through his money factory with a broad smile.  
"Boom-Boom, I never thought you'd come back," he said sarcastically.  
    The anger that she dealt with was overwhelming. "Look... shut  
your face. I don't want to hear it, chump, I left and I'm gone and not  
comin' back.  Just..." she was at a major crisis... desperately searching  
for the words.  "What've you done?! I thought you were into purse-snatching,  
beating up old ladies..."  
    The Vanisher grinned. "Look, hey, I was never a Magneto. I know  
that. A guy's just gotta make do."  
    Remy interjected. "So you gonna become a pimp to compensate?"  
    A young woman watched from across the large room, smoking on   
a slim cigarette in a doorway.  "Wellwell, 'Tabitha Smith'." Her name  
was Rhonda and she was showing quite an attitude.  
    Tabitha didn't respond to the girl, or to Vickie who was   
continually trying to put a word in.  "You two be quiet also... jesus,  
now I have a freakin' headache... You're _so_ sick," she shouted at  
the Vanisher, her old boss. And she turned to the girls, "N' you _know_  
you don't haveta put up with this." And to Gambit, "I swear, it wasn't  
like this..." She shook her head in amazement and giggled nervously.  
    Suddenly, ironically, police sirens were heard. The men and women  
jumped at once, in disbelief. "Damn... it's always got to happen  
to me," the Vanisher mumbled and did what he does best... vanished.  
    Everyone ran around in panic.  The police were surrounding  
the warehouse and preparing to make their grand entrance. One girl  
shouted, "C'mon, there's a back way!" And everyone ran in that direction,  
and some others fumbly in the other.  
    Tabitha, Gambit, and Rhonda were among the ones escaping.  
"I don't have time for this," Rhonda muttered to herself. Vickie was  
lost somewhere in the confusion.  
    As the trio made their way outside, around the back of the   
warehouse just before the police arrived in back, they could see others  
being led out in handcuffs and tossed into a large police-escort van  
to the precinct.  Tabitha only glanced at Rhonda in yet another   
attempt to understand what this mess had been about.  
    Rhonda only grinned and ran a hand through her blond hair.  
    Tabitha chuckled in disbelief. "Jesus, what're you ever going  
to do without me?" Wrapping an arm around Rhonda's waist, she walked  
ahead of Gambit back toward a side street, by the water, in the   
moonlight.  
  
NEXT ISSUE:  The countdown to the 50th issue begins! Who bombed the  
Siberian laboratory? Were they after Mimic, the Mutant Underground,  
or just to cause some terror and mayhem?  Find out when X-Force  
heads to Madripoor and face some old demons, and old memories!  
Featuring lots of guest-stars, including Gambit, Krule, Bloodscream,  
and Tyger Tiger!


	3. Wolverine #94

Published: Tue, 24 Oct 1995 15:16:03 -0700 (PDT)  
  
Wolverine #94 -- "The Beginning of the End"  
Written by: >>>\--Ricochet-->  
Part 1 of 7: Adamantium Bound Saga  
  
  ** X-WRITERS is a fan-fiction e-mail group.  Wolverine and X-related   **  
  ** characters are copywrites of Marvel Comics and are used without     **  
  ** permission.  We are not sponsored by any other private organization **  
  ** MUSH, indiviudal, etc.  We are a non-profit group of amateur comic  **  
  ** writer hopefuls.  Please don't rain on our parade with a lawsuit.   **  
  ** I would like to keep the $1.37 in my bank account.   Enjoy!!!!!!    **  
  
  
A plane somewhere over the Atlantic....  
  
"Thanks for the save.." remarked Cyber "..but you all shouldn't have  
bothered.  I would have gotten myself out of there anyways."  Cyber sneered  
at his present company, which consisted of Spyne, Hurricane, and Lifeforce;  
aka The Dark Riders.  
  
"The way I saw it.." replied Hurricane, "..the authorities had you tied up  
pretty good."  
  
Cyber leaned back in his chair and smiled.  "Whatever.  Anyways, your boss  
must think pretty highly of me to go to all that trouble of busting me out  
of that Scottish hellhole.  If I heard one more stinkin' bagpipe.."  
  
"Oh, the master indeed has plans for the likes of you metal skinned one"  
answered Spyne in a voice that sounded like a blend of Kermit the Frog and  
Darth Vader.  "Very big plans..."  
  
The last sentence struck a chord in Cyber as his eyes lit up in surprise.    
He looked out the window, carefully making mental notes of his position.  
"Master?  What the hell is with this master business?  Ain't nobody my master  
but me."  
  
"Oh, but you owe master.. you do" replied Spyne.  
  
"Yeah, and what Genesis wants, Genesis gets" added Life Force.  She got up  
from her seat and strolled over to Cyber.  She looked him in the eyes, and  
gently caressed his cheek. "And you big boy, is definitely what the master  
ordered."  
  
With that last phrase, Cyber clearlyunderstood.  He stood up, and pushed  
aside the lethal lady.  "You flunkies can play slave all ya's want, but  
aint nobody telling Cyber what to do."  He walked down towards the middle of  
plane, and grabbed one of the seats.  With one huge yank, the seat was ripped  
from its bolts.    
  
"I don't care if this Genesis is King of the friggin' world, this rooster is  
flying the coup!"  With these last words, Cyber hurled the chair at  
Hurricane.  
  
The Dark Riders were too surprised by this act of ingratitude to totally  
phathom what was going on.  In their confusion, Cyber ripped a hole in the  
hull of the plane.  He braced himself on the edges, as an influx of air was  
sucked out.    
  
"Later jerks!" were the last words the Dark Riders heard as Cyber jumped  
out of the plane.  The air was still being sucked out at a rapid rate.  
Spyne, being the closest to the breach was flung out the hole, and was just  
barely holding on with his claw-like hands.  Hurricane being the strongest  
and largest rushed to Spyne's aid.  As he pulled him in, Hurricane could have  
sworn he saw Cyber, while in free fall, give him the finger.  
  
\----- * -----  
  
Meanwhile back at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters..  
  
She was breathing hard, as she ran passed the army of trees that surrounded  
her.  Jubilee, once the youngest X-Man, now a student at the school, was  
running for her life.  She could almost feel her assailant's hot breath  
caressing the back of her neck.  *oh god oh god oh god* were the only thoughts  
in her head.  No matter how fast she ran, her assailant was faster.  The dark  
woods seemed to go on forever.  However, she caught a glimpse of grove of  
bushes she could use to hide in. But that choice was taken from her as she  
  
tripped over a fallen branch.  Practice with the X-Men and the school taught  
her how to fall without twisting an ankle, it was almost instinctive.  But  
instinct couldn't save her from the savage beast that was chasing her.  The  
beast pounced on her just as Jubille could see the beast's face..  
  
*WOLVIE.... NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*  
  
Jubilee jerked up from under the covers and began to let out a scream.  
Quickly, a familiar hand lunged out and stiffled most of it.  
  
"Shhhh darling, you might wake up the little ones" said the husky voice.  
  
"Wo-o-lvie?" stammered Jubilee.  Sweat was trickling down her brow, and  
Wolverine could see the fear in her eyes.  He tried to reassure her.  
  
"It was just a bad dream.  Nothing to be afraid of now.. care to share it?"  
  
"uh.. no."    
  
Wolverine could tell something was wrong, but decided not to push any deeper.  
He knew how his current condition must be affecting Jubilee.  He moved closer  
to her and offered her a comforting hug.  Jubilee shyed away at first, but  
welcomed the show of warmth.  
  
"Oh Wolvie, it's so good to see you again!  I'm glad you are out of those  
stinkin' woods.  The X-Men must be glad to have their numero uno tough guy  
back!"  She knew deep in her heart that nothing had changed, but hope was  
all she had.  When the toughest guy on earth begins to break down, fear  
is a natural response.  
  
"I wish I could say I was back, but I aint about to tell you a lie.  I respect  
you way too much for that Jubilee."  He gently stroked her hair, as she  
nuzzled her face in his shoulder.  "Your pal Logan here aint what he used  
to be.  But hopefully all that is gonna change.  Ya see, there's this man who  
can make me whole again, and I aim to see him.  I wanted to say goodbye...  
just in case"  
  
"Shut up Wolverine.." sobbed Jubilee, "don't you talk like that!  You're  
okay, you just need some time to.."  
  
"I wish that were the truth darling," he interrupted, "but it aint. This ol'  
Canucklehead hasn't been right in ages.  The wild side is winning, and I  
don't think I like that anymore.  I have never been a quitter, and I wont  
start now.  I'm gonna end this, one way or the other.  I can't have myself  
being a liability anymore.  I owe you and the X-Men at least that much."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Sorry Jubes, but nothing can change my mind.  I just wanted to tell you that  
for all that has gone down, I'm proud of you and they way you have handled  
things.  When everyone else questioned me, you were the one that stuck by.  
You are one of the strongest people I know.  Stay strong for me."  
  
Jubilee held him even tighter, as she held back her sobs and tears.  "You  
take care of your self Wolvie.  You won't have this firecracker looking out  
for ya, so you just be careful. I love you."  
  
"I will darling.."  He got up, and headed towards the open window.  Just as  
he was about to climb out, he looked back towards one of the few women in  
his life that truly meant something to him. "I love you too Jubilee." and  
he was gone.  
  
Jono, Paige, and Angelo entered the room a split second later.    
  
"What the hell was all that noise?" asked Paige.  
  
"Just a bad dream.. sorry to wake you guys." replied Jubilee.  
  
"Sheesh!  A guy like me needs his beauty sleep ya know!" quipped Skin, and  
he left the room.  
  
"As long as everything is all right then." responded Chamber.  
  
"Yeah, everything's okay.." and as Chamber and Husk left with these final  
audible words, Jubilee whispered under her breath "..I hope."  
  
\----- * -----  
  
"Dear X-Men,  
  
     No need to worry about me lurking around in the woods any more.  I'm  
leaving for awhile.. to find things out, set things right, and hopefully  
coming back the Canuckle head you all know, trust, and can depend on.  This  
is something I have to do alone.    
  
                              Your Pal,  
                                        Logan"  
  
Scott, Ororo, and Charles sat in the study and listened as Jean read the  
letter aloud.  Their faces seemed tired and grim, as their hearts lost a  
little bit more of the hope they once held.  
  
"Damnit!  exclaimed Scott.  He slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair.  
  
"Now Scott, Wolverine hasn't been himself for quite some time now"  the  
professor said in a reassuring voice. "I think he has finally decided to  
do something about it."  
  
"Yes, but shouldn't someone go after him?" asked Jean.  The lost had effected  
her deeply, and the group could sense it, telepathic or not.  
  
"Jean, Wolverine is very experienced, and I have all the faith that he knows  
what he is doing" answered Ororo.  "He has been through many things, this is  
just another test in his life which he must face."  
  
"I understand that, but I'm going after him.  He doesn't have to face this  
alone."  
  
"Now wait a minute Jean.  Logan said he had to do this by himself." retorted  
Scott.    
  
"Scott, I love you with all my heart, but I also love Logan, as I do all the  
X-Men.  He is in pain, and he needs someone there for him."  
  
"I agree.." replied Charles.  "With all that has been going on, with Gene  
Nation, and the destruction of Avalon, I have been lax in my concern for  
Wolverine."  
  
"Then its settled.  I'll be preparing the Blackbird" Jean got up and left  
the room.  
  
\----- * -----  
  
The wind was blowing through his hair, a feeling that always calmed him down  
and made him feel relaxed.  Wolverine was doing 80 mph on his motorcycle and  
not caring one damn bit about the law.  The mountain road had some of the  
best scenery, and it was no wonder that so many accidents happened on this  
particular stretch.  Motorists should keep their eyes on the road, and off  
of the beautiful blue skies and stunning mountain tops.  When Logan was  
riding his bike in such beautiful territories, nothing could disturb his  
tranquillity.  Well, almost nothing.  
  
From behind him he could here the roar of Mustang closing in on him.  
The crap the kids call music these days was polluting the air.  He  
could here giggles and chuckles of both males and females.  
  
The car was getting closer, and though the wind was blowing against him,  
Wolvie thought he smelled something fishy.  He looked behind him, and saw  
the car no less than 5 feet behind him.  Even scarier was the sight of the  
driver, who was no more than 17, taking a drink from a whisky bottle.  
  
The mustang took no concern for the bike or its passenger and almost ran  
Wolvie off the road.  Along with the driver, there were two girls and another  
boy, all of the same age.  
  
*Stupid kid aint only gonna kill himself, but 3 others too* thought Wolvie as  
he poured on the gas.  He caught up to them, and was driving side by side.  
The driver looked over to Logan, gave him a smile, and offered him a drink.  
  
"You Stupid KID!* Wolvie yelled, but the teenagers couldn't hear above the  
roars of the engines, the deafening yells of The Offspring (Just goes ta show  
ya... -C. NASH), or the blowing wind.  Logan had to stop them some how,  
before they decide to visit St Peter a little premature, or worse, decide  
to take someone else with them.  
  
The road began to merge with the base of the mountain, allowing for level  
ground.  The threat of plunging of the mountain was gone, but not of the  
other multiple deadly hazards.  Logan waited for a clear strip of land beside  
the road and went into action.  He roared past the passenger side of the car.  
Though the familiar *shlucking* sound was muffled, the claws popped out  
and Wolverine slashed the front tire.  The tire blew and the car veered off  
into the open land.  Logan manoeuvred quickly to he other side, and blew the  
other tire.  The car eventually came to a stop, but the teenagers were too  
smashed to get angry and just laughed the whole time.    
  
*Damn kids.. at least they wont harm themselves or others.. for now*  
  
And Wolverine sped away.  
  
\----- * -----  
  
"You know Logan and I have always had our differences.." said Scott as walked  
into the hanger, "but I don't like seeing him like this."  
  
Jean looked up from her inspection, and turned towards her husband.  "Scott,  
Logan needs someone right now, even if it is someone to talk too."  
  
"I know.  And I love you for all your concern.  As much as I argue with  
the runt, you know I would hate anything to happen to him.  Bring him home  
Jean."  
  
Jean rushed over to him and gave him a hug.  "I'll do my best Scott, or least  
let him know that we are here when and if he needs us."  She gave him a long  
passionate kiss.  
  
\----- * -----  
  
A fishing boat on the Atlantic...  
  
"What the..!?!" cried the first mate as the boat buckled.  
  
"Must of hit something... large" replied the captain.  "Pretty strange  
if you ask me.. shouldn't be nothing out here to run into. "  
  
As the fishermen discussed the occurrence, activity was happening on the  
bottom of the boat.  The shadows hid most of the massive bulk clinging to the hull,  
except for the occasional glint of metal that appeared when the boat bobbed  
up and down with the waves, and that little bit of sunshine broke through.    
Revenge was the only thing on the his mind.. revenge for the one who put  
him in this predicament in the first place.  The only creatures who would  
have been able to hear his threat were the fishes, but that didn't much matter to  
him anyways.    
  
"I'm coming for ya runt.."  
  
\----- * -----  
  
Next Issue:  Logan continues on his quest to make himself whole again!  Just  
             who is the man who can do this for him and what does he have to  
             offer?    
                 
             Cyber begins his rampage as he makes his way back to America to  
             finish what he started!  
               
             And some familiar faces resurface in...  
  
            "Old Friends Return", part 2 of the Adamantium Bound Saga.


	4. Wolverine #95

Wolverine #95 -- "With Friends Like These..."  
Written by: >>>\--Ricochet-->  
Part 2 of 7: Adamantium Bound Saga  
  
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On a small port on the coast of Spain....  
  
The wreckage was severe, and what was left of any crew would leave the  
authorities busy for weeks.  The foul smell of death and carnage gripped the  
air around them like a choke hold.  Wails and gasps could be heard behind the  
wall of policemen who were trying to hold the fearful crowd back from the  
slaughter.  The common cry of  "Madre Dios!" was exclaimed by many.  Inspector  
Ramirez, in all his 50 years on the force, had seen something remotely close  
to this onslaught once before, but the torture and unspeakable violence that  
occurred on the washed up wreckage was so severe, he had to contain himself  
from throwing up more than once.  Many others were not as strong willed.  The  
most puzzling piece of this fury of madness was written on the remains of the  
hull.  In blood, the word Wolverine signatured the wood, with an X deeply  
slashed through it with the furt and strength of a savage beast.  
  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
Somewhere on the road to salvation....  
  
*The snow or wind don't bother me none.  In fact, the brisk cold air makes me  
feel alive and free.  After all these years, after everything that has  
happened through my life (and death), its the simple thing as a winter's  
breeze that can really strike deep into a man's heart.  And what a troubled  
heart it is.. the love's gained and lost, the family and friends that have  
come and gone, the joys and pain I have lived through... was it all worth it?  
You're damn right it was!  If their is one thing I aint ever cried about are  
the things that have happened to me.  They made me what I am today.  And, for  
the most part, I like me.  My friends like me.  Heck, I even begin to think  
that my enemies like me.  But now it's time for this ol' canucklehead to  
figure out just who is this me that I like.  My memories are a maze of fantasy  
and reality.  Who knows which dreams and thoughts are real anymore.  Added to  
that is the fact that the feral part of me has been growing stronger, and it  
aint getting easier to fight.I don't even know if I want to anymore.  That  
scares me a little.  Scares my friends a lot.  This guy, Jaime Munoz says he  
can fix me.  For the sake of my friends, I'll give him a try.  I know I don't  
have to do this alone.  The X-Men would back me up through thick and thin,  
but this is something I gotta find out for myself.  *  
  
Wolverine could feel his consciousness slip away.  The cold breeze slapped him  
alert now and then, but the strain of thought was overwhelming.  Thoughts of  
his past ran rampant in his head, trying to piece together all that was known.  
Perhaps some of the pieces fit more than twice.  Either way, this wasn't going  
to be solved with speculation alone, Logan needed some concrete answers.  
  
*Something has been troubling me for quite sometime now.  This Munoz.. I've  
swear I've seen him before.  Dreams of his face trouble me at night, prodding  
me with needles and sensors.  Only one place I can think of that fits the  
bill, and I don't like it.  But it seems most of my troubles start and end  
with my involvement in Weapon X.  Hopefully Jaime Munoz will have some  
answers, as well as the cure. *  
  
**GEEZ LOUISE!!!!**  
  
The railing came as fast as his mind could register.  The hazy thoughts of  
his past were now flooded with the immediate danger of plummeting over the  
rail of the mountain road.  The road was snowy enough to prevent any evasive  
manoeuvre, as the valiant effort was met with the bike skidding onto its side,  
sliding wheels first into the barrier.  Logan let go of the grips, but his  
momentum was too great.. he followed the bike as it crashed into the rail.  
Luckily, the engineers had done their job, as the safety precaution lived up  
to its name.  It didn't make the pain any easier to live with.  
  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
Japan..  
  
Yuriko looked at the newspaper in amazement.  After all these long years of  
torment, chasing Logan , even giving up her humanity to fight for the honour  
of her father Lord Darkwynd, Lady Deathstrike could not believe the words  
that seemed to laugh at her from the paper.  "American Doctor Finds Biological  
Link to Precious Metal Alloy".  
  
"Gaijin dogs!" she yelled as her cyborg hands ripped the newspaper into fine  
shreds.  "Jaime Munoz, pray to your gods little man, for my father's honour  
is about to restored.. with your DEATH!"  
  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
*Sloppy.  Was a time I would have been able to jump off the bike and do a  
triple gainer.  Heck, I shouldn't have even been close to that barrier had I  
kept my mind straight.  Bike's ruined.. so's the right arm for the time  
being.  Healing factor'll knit that up. The ego is another matter.*  
  
Logan looked down the cliff, taking in the thought of how close he came to  
meeting the base of the mountain quicker than expected.  The wind began to  
pick up, as he flipped up the collar of his jacket to keep in the warmth.  He  
checked his pockets to see if everything was accounted for.  It was all there,  
some of it a little squished, like the package he kept in his breast pocket.  
He opened it up, pulled out a stick and placed it in his mouth.  The taste  
hit him like a freight train, as a smile grew on his face.  
  
*Nothing like a good stick of chewing gum to ease a man's pain.  Gave up those  
cancer ridden garbage awhile back.  You kids out there who are smoking would  
pay attention to your pal Wolverine, it aint a pretty habit.*  
  
The walk ahead of him was long, but it gave him time to clear his head.  More  
thoughts of  Jaime Munoz ballet danced in his head.  To bad Logan had never  
understood the ballet, or he might have been able to decipher what all these  
thoughts meant.  It was a couple of hours before the flash of lights hit him.  
  
Jean Grey pulled up beside him in a jeep.  Her warm smile had washed away all  
his cold and pain.  
  
"Need a lift?"  Logan  climbed into the jeep without a smile.  
  
"You shouldn't be here Jeanie.  I would have asked for help if I wanted it."  
  
"I know you better than that Logan." she replied in a stern motherly voice.  
Having no recollections of his childhood, Logan took comfort in her tone.  
"You always put others in front of yourself.  Well, it's about time *BUB*  
that you just sat there, shut up, and listen"  
  
Logan's eyes went wider than ever, as Jean's comment froze him like a deer in  
headlights.  The stunned look was overtaken by a wide grin.  *It's no wonder  
I love her so,* he thought *she tamed the savage beast*.  
  
"Logan, this trip you are taking is very important to you.  We all know what  
you are going through, and we respect your need for privacy"  
  
"Has nothing to do with privacy Jeanie, but with hon.."  
  
"Quiet.  I'm doing the talking here.  Privacy, honour, call it what you like.  
Its about finding out about yourself.  I know a lot about that.  When I had  
thoughts of Phoenix and Madelyne running through my head, it was more than I  
could stand sometimes.  And this business of your feral side, Logan, I think  
has more to do with your heart than with the adamantium.  Logan, I love you,  
I always will.  The X-Men love you.  We are here for you, and deep down  
inside you know that.  I'm not here to offer my help, but I think its about  
time someone told you that they loved you.  We love you for who you are Logan,  
who you were, and who you will be.  This quest you're on will help settle  
some things in your head, but only you can settle the things in your soul.  
Hopefully, knowing that our spirit and love goes with you will help in that  
struggle."  Jean leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  
  
"Jeanie, I don't want the boy scout after me now too"    They both laughed  
heartily.  "And Jean..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thanks.. for understanding.  Try and make the others understand.  And take  
care of Jubilee for me."  
  
"For the mean time I will, but you just hurray back to us, and take care of  
her yourself.  So where to?"  
  
"Airport... and Jeanie, I love you to."  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
High above the clouds over the mountain road, an aircraft right out of a Star  
Trek episode hovered quietly.  Zoe Culledon sat and watched the monitor  
systems carefully, and couldn't help but smile.  Logan had many friends, this  
she learned quickly, but as to the extent of these friendships, she learned  
today.  The com system buzzed and interrupted her train of thought.  
  
"Agent Culledon, report."  
  
"Everything is running smoothly.  Logan is on his way to the airport right  
now. "  
  
"Just make sure you get to the appointed destination before he does.  There  
is too much riding on this for any screw ups.  And make sure nothing happens  
to Logan before he gets there.  Understood?"  
  
"Yes.  Everything will be fine.  That's why  I'm as expensive as they come.  
Zoe Culledon out."  
  
The com went silent.  She found it funny how most of these employers treated  
her like a Walmart nightwatchman.  They all learned quickly just how competent  
and deadly she could be.  
  
*Wolverine is fine at the moment* she thought.  She picked up a dossier from  
the computer console and glanced at it interestingly.  *There is more  
pressing  business to attend to*   <note: see Exiles LS coming soon!>  
  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
Somewhere in Egypt...  
  
"Let me see if I hear you right?"   His tone was as soft as it was menacing.  
"Cyber was in our possession, and you allowed him to escape."  
  
"Yessss... Master Genesis, but Cyber was ...."  Spynes last words were cut  
off  by the impact of a plasma shot connecting with his chest. The lizard-like  
mutant writhed on the floor like a worm on a hook, and ended his consciousness  
with a few brief spasms.  
  
"Take him to the infirmary." ordered Genesis.  "I will not tolerate failure.  
I will capture Cyber myself.   Luckily for you Dark Riders, I still have need  
of your pathetic lives.  Count yourselves among the blessed."  Genesis walked  
out with out further word.  
  
"Serves Spyne right!  Telling Cyber all that master crap!"  
  
"Oh shut up Hurricane!" replied Lifeforce. "If it wasn't for your lack of..."  
  
Their argument could only hide the surface fear they all felt.  Deep down  
inside, they all knew terror that was Genesis.  
  
  
~~~~~ * ~~~~~  
  
  
Somewhere in Spain...  
  
"... an' gimme another stoagie while your at it!"  Cyber propped his feet  
onto the desk.  The warehouse was a smaller operation than he was used to,  
but what could he expect from second rate criminals.  Hector Resendez was an  
old associate of Cyber's, and could get him out of Spain and into the States  
quicker than a Telly Savalis haircut.  
  
"Yes sir... and I hope the accommodations are.. acceptable?"  replied Hector.  
  
"Yeah whatever.."  It helped that Hector was deathly afraid of what Cyber  
could do to him, so it made his cooperation that much more helpful.  
  
Cyber took a deep puff of his cigar and blew a ring in the air.  It floated  
over his head gently like an angel to the heavens.  Cyber noted the beauty  
and elegance of the smoke, and with one fell swoop, destroyed it.  Cyber  
laughed out loud!  *I'll do a lot worse to you Wolverine* he thought. *And  
when I'm through with you, you'll pray for death!*  His laugh grew louder  
and more disturbing.  However, it was the insane smile on Cyber's face that  
haunted Hector Resendez sleep for many weeks.  
  
  
  
Next Issue:  Wolverine gets an unexpected visit from Rogue, the Princess Bar  
             is revisited with some old friends, and Cyber conitunes his  
             mad hunt for Logan in "Flights of Fancy", part 3 of "The  
             Adamantium Saga".  
  
  



	5. Uncanny X-Men #326

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*X-WRITERS is a fan fiction group, dedicated to Marvel's X-Men line of *  
*books. We neither have permission to use these characters in this way *  
*nor do we get paid by any other organization, MUSH, or individual to  *  
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************************************************************************  
  
Uncanny X-Men #326  "The Twelve -- A Prologue"  
Written by:  Rhonda   
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
Phoenix, Arizona -- an Ophrah Industries compound  
    The duo entered (Zoe Culloden and her silent partner), anxious  
to collect their much-deserved paycheck.  Research staff crowded around  
monitors in the vast laboratory, and Zoe peered through the glass  
window, noting the dark figure sitting cross-legged on a metal platform,  
devices monitoring his vital signs.  "The old man alright?" she asked.  
    "Don't worry about him, Culloden," an authoritative man near  
the far door said.  "We certainly don't."  His name was Gideon; he was  
her employer.  
    For the past weeks, Culloden had been tracking various dangerous  
mercenaries, from one end of the world to the other, for a cause that she  
did not understand -- or truly care about.  Mr. Gideon had explained  
little and she asked for even less. All she wanted was her check. A born  
mercenary, what else was more important?  
    "I want my payback, Gideon."  
    "And you will get it, my dear," he sneered, approaching the two.  
Culloden's 'partner in crime' stood ever quiet, glancing at the terminals  
and trying to digest what the scientists were doing.  Gideon turned to  
the old man in the observation room.  "Look at him... he's so old, and weak,  
and truly so innocent.  And think of what he's capable of doing..."  
Gideon smiled broadly and turned back to Culloden, who nodded impatiently.  
"Your job is not quite over."  
    Culloden smiled confidently.  "Actually, sir, it is.  My offers  
are lining up and waiting; I don't have time for your problems. I've  
got my own."  
    "And you'll only have more if you don't pay attention---" she   
turned away as Gideon spoke. "---close attention," he continued, grabbing  
her arm, "to what I'm saying.  You will not get your money. And there  
won't be another job.  Understood?"  
    Zoe stared deep into his eyes and saw immediately how serious  
he was. And his physical reflexes, his anger, frightened her surprisingly,  
such that she could only nod.  
    Gideon turned to one of his staff, who typed in a few commands on  
a monitor.  The face of a young woman, with whiteish hair and a cocky  
attitude (Zoe could tell), was displayed immediately, parallel to a   
full frontal view of her body, with physical and genetic characteristics  
listed below in bolded letters.  "Her. She is your next, and hopefully  
final, target."  
    "Her name, Gideon. I don't like to hunt people I don't know."  
    "Siena Blaze... You might find her rather tough to get.  She has---"  
    Zoe smiled and interjected. "An attitude? That's alright, so do  
I. I'll get her."  
  
****  
  
Westchester County, New York State -- The Xavier Institute  
    They sat anxiously watching the television, one in his wheelchair,  
the other crouched on the sofa by the fireplace.  The study was dark, only  
dimly-lit by a lamp on the desk as well as by the dim lit of the television  
screen.  As the sun rose outside, Hank McCoy and Charles Xavier sadly  
waited as the world crumbled around them.  
    "More information has come in regarding the break-in at the Brand  
Corporation last night.  A spokesman reported, just a few minutes ago, that  
three undescript mutants were videotaped leaving the scene of destruction,  
though none have been identified. Oddly enough, there is no disclosed   
videotape of the mutants, or anyone else, breaking into the industrial  
site, so the original perpetrator is still at large.  And in other news----"  
    Hank sighed deeply and turned the monitor off, staying crouched in  
front of the monitor, very pensive.  Charles sensed that something was   
bothering him and spoke considerately, "Hank... if you want to investigate  
the incident alone, we'll understand. You have a history with Brand Corp."  
    But the other said nothing, at first.  "No... I'm needed here,  
Charles, and I'm not prepared to go leave now.  They say "mutants", but  
they don't even know that for fact. It's probably just a sad case of  
industrial espionnage gone bad."  
    Charles said nothing. He was given no opportunity to speak, as   
a knock on the door interrupted their silence.  The girls stood in the  
doorway, both seeming rather brusk and confidant in their proper   
stances.  The one who leaned against the frame of the doorway, she was   
called Tabitha Smith, or Boomer to her peers.  The other, already   
standing inside the dim office, was known as Rhonda.  Relatively unknown,   
even to her friends.  
    "Enter, Tabitha."  Charles didn't quite look up. He was still   
gazing into space, thinking very much about the consequences of his past   
actions. But even more on his mind now was what was truly troubling his   
dear friend and student, Hank.  If only he had the courage, the nerve, to   
probe into his thoughts... but Charles remembered Voght, and Magneto, and   
decided (perhaps against his better judgment) not to pry. Whatever the cost.  
    Rhonda turned toward a seat in front of Charles' desk, as if   
implying that she'll sit whether or not she gets permission. She needed   
not dare. Charles invited her openly.  "Please, Rhonda, sit." And she   
did. He began, "Your escapade with Remy last night got a lot of public...   
exposure."  
    "Well, we got trapped in a real bad situation," Tabitha   
interjected. Charles nodded.  
    "Yes, I realize that..." he took a long pause and then seemed   
almost to change the topic.  "A senator was arrested that night. At your   
'home', Rhonda."  
    "That place's about as much a home as this place is... it's the   
place I stayed, that's all."  
    The Professor continued. "Well, hopefully you'll find more peace   
later in life."  
    "Ummm, Professor... I was hoping that Rhonda could stay here,   
y'know?  She n' I have a lot to talk about, n' we haven't seen each other   
in a long while."  
    Hank chuckled softly.  "A regular little slomber party, eh?"  
    "No, that's fine, Tabitha," Charles turned to Rhonda.  "Tabitha   
will let you stay into the guest room. We'll speak this afternoon."  
    Rhonda stepped back toward the door. "Sounds good to me... Let's   
go, Tabs."  She walked out the door, Tabitha close at heel.  
    Once out in the hallway, Tabs by her side, the two giggled   
gleefully.  
  
****  
  
Phoenix, Arizona.  
    Papers shuffled across his desk, a conference call getting closed   
up, Gideon was hardly exhausted.  He'd fought a life-time for this   
opportunity, the chance to do away with those who opposed him. One by   
one. Little by little. A small step giving way to a giant leap.  Soon,   
the moment that his old friend, Burke, had predicted would come about.   
The moment of truth. And his rivals (the world at large) would fall.  
    He scanned the newspapers eagerly, almost nervously, to see if his plan   
had been successful.  "Boston... San Francisco... Hamburg..." he smiled.   
"New York.  New York democrat Senator Tracey was arrested last night   
at..." He'd had enough.  
    "Was the venture a success, sir?" his aide asked anxiously.  
    Gideon grinned rather smugly.  "Of course it did, Chapman.  Cray   
did her job... Get the Senator on the phone, would you?"  
    The aide searched through the mess on his employer's desk, until   
he had the phone in hand.  Pressing a memory button, he recalled a set   
number and listened as it ringed, rather impatiently picking his   
fingernails.  "Yes, this is Mr. Gideon's office from Ophrah... get me   
Senator Kelly." Gideon turned his revolving chair around, crossing his   
legs at the ankles and glancing through the thin metallic Venetian blinds   
into the desert beyond.  
  
****  
  
    They charged her with a raw ferocity.  All she could think was,   
"How dense do these 'gentlemen' think I am?"  Ororo Monroe ignored her   
powers, for once in her life. She could easily have taken them down, too   
easily. She desired a challenge; she desired a fight.  
    The streetgang, armed with cheap revolvers and rather primitive   
daggers, sneered as she taunted them.  Some yelled as they leaped her,   
and she kicked them off with ease.  How could she respect such a villain?   
Such an opponent?  They were no opponent.  
    As she smashed the last aggressor's head against the stone wall,   
she felt a shudder down her spine.  A heart ripped out, much less than   
figuratively.  Quite literally, only weeks earlier, she had held the   
young Marrow's life in her hands, and squeezed, and ripped... and killed.   
And now she did so with even less thought, and certainy less   
aforethought. For it was all a computer simulation.  
    "Computer, end program."  Normally, Storm worked up a sweat in   
such excercises.  She always had to consider the 'right approach'; "What   
would Scott do in such a situation?" she used to think.  "What would the   
Professor do?" "Will they still respect me?"  
    Will they still respect her after what she's done?  
    "Ororo, you oughta work yourself more," a taunting voice said   
from the control room.  She looked up to see Scott's hard face, hard with   
angst and war and love all at once, shining down upon her.  Once she had   
respected it, sought to achieve that state.  She wanted... to feel   
well-deserved and deserving, to have grand achievements and yet still be   
achieving. And now that she did, she only sought, strangely, to destroy it.  
    "I know, Scott," Ororo said, her face blank with disappointment   
and dismay.  Then she smiled warmly, "I can't imagine what's come over   
me. I used to be a threat."  
    "You always had guts, Storm. Thank God you also have a heart."  
    "Yes... a heart..." and she remembered why she had come to the   
Danger Room at all.  So she changed the subject, rather futily, to   
Jean.  "Jean still hasn't returned yet, has she?"  
    Scott shook his head, "No. She hasn't... still looking for Logan."  
    "I hope she comes back with him; he shouldn't have left without   
us," she said thoughtfully. "I like to think that, even after all he's   
been through in the past, even he needs someone."  
    "More than anyone else I know, Ororo."  
    Storm nodded. "He is very weak now though, Scott. I wish you   
wouldn't distrust him so much."  
    "What makes you say I do?"  
    Storm grinned.  "Just remember that Jean loves you, Scott. Stop   
hurting over a man as honourable as Logan is."  She moved over to the   
doorway and into the elevator, which took her to the control room by   
Scott.  He tossed her a towel.  
    "So what was that workout about, anyway?  You have some anger you   
need to direct?"  
    "Don't you, Scott?"  
    "What does it matter?" Scott was rather defensive, sensing a   
renewed rivalry.  "Look... just remember where you come from, alright?   
Madam Goddess."  
    She didn't even nod.  "Yes, I know who and what I am.  That's   
what worries me.  I hardly feel the same at all... yet again, I neither   
know who I am and, more precisely, what I am to become..."  
    Storm didn't wait for an answer and left Scott alone in the room,   
worried about a close friend who was pushing away from him, wondering how   
he could help. He couldn't, though.  
  
****  
  
    Outside, they ran side by side, rather silent except for the   
occasional grunt.  In the months that they had known each other, Remy and   
Sam had shared few words.  They didn't require any.  Action was all that   
was needed, and each had only respect for the other.  
    "Tell me, Remy, what was that ya did with Tabs last night?" Sam   
prodded.  
    Remy grinned and kept jogging, rubbing his chest briefly to wipe   
the sweat from his shirt.  "Look-see, Cannonball, you wanna get into   
talkin' 'bout the girl, you gotta talk to the girl."  
    Sam kept running, just behind Gambit.  "C'mon, ah know somethin's   
up.  Bobby said Tabs brought an old friend home."  
    Remy remained silent until finally he added, "Oui, good friend o'   
hers, I think. Nice girl too..."  
    "How nice, Remy?" Sam said jokingly, as Remy jabbed him in the   
ribs, sending the other off onto the grass chuckling.  
    "'Bout as nice as any other nice girl." And that was that.  Remy   
jogged forward furiously, eager to prove a point: that he was fit. Fit   
for what, however, was the question.  
    Meanwhile, others watched them from the patio, sipping coffee in   
the early-morning sun.  A light mist rose above the Institute's grounds,   
chilling the surface.  Betsy Braddock couldn't take it much longer, as   
she watched Remy run ahead of Sam.  
    "He bothers me..." she said to her two close friends.  
    Warren spoke up, after swallowing a mouth-full of coffee.  "Who   
does, Bets?" Bobby sat with them, eyes glacy more than usual, paying   
slightly less attention to them than he was to the increasing frost on   
his mug.  
    Betsy looked up and turned to the other two.  "Remy.  I... looked   
into his mind. And while I feel it was wrong of me, I'm not sure... it   
frightened me."  
    "How so?" Warren asked.  
    "It was so mysterious, an alley, Gambit prowling the streets...   
he was hunting, Warren. And then, he awoke. He said what almost seemed   
like a threat."  
    "Chilling."  
    "Pardon me?"  
    Iceman spoke suddenly. "I said it was chilling." And the mug,   
encased in a field of ice, cracked instantly and shattered, splinters of   
ceramic resting on the table as only a memory.  
    "What that to prove a point?" Warren said humourously.  
    Less humourously, Bobby said, "No, it's just how I feel about it.   
Rogue felt something was wrong, and she couldn't deal with it. And Betsy   
now. How else can you describe it?"  
    "None-of-our-business comes to mind," Warren said.  
    "No, I hardly think _that_ is the case," Betsy noted.  "Victor,   
in the past, has frightened us all. He's offered memories, though. His   
memories. Of Gambit, of his past... and while he may not remember the   
truth now, I fear that we may find out for ourselves."  
    Warren spoke seriously, "Look, hon, Bobby, how would you like it   
if Jean crossed you? If she suspected you of being a 'bad person'?   
Gambit's doing a pretty good job being what he's apparently always been   
meant to be: an X-man. What place is it of ours to challenge him?"  
    They didn't say much more, besides Bobby's comment about how it   
might snow that weekend.  Betsy was less than relieved though.  
    Another watched those three, and the two jogging in the   
background. He stood in the woods, watching over the one now in his   
charge. The one called Sabretooth.  
    Bishop muttered to himself, almost compulsively. How long had he   
had this habit?  No one had ever caught him, thank goodness, or he would   
have been humiliated.  Whenever no one was around; whenever no one was   
listening; whenever he was along and needed reassurance that he was doing   
the right thing... he knew that he was always there to listen to himself   
speak.  
    He scanned the images before him.  A young man, blue in   
appearance, blond-haired and angelic with his techno-metallic wings...   
his arm around a purple-haired oriental, Brit by birth, and an angel in   
her own right. He couldn't remember how long he had had such feelings for   
Betsy.  It seemed like only a matter of hours, since his dream earlier.    
Yet a part of him felt something so much more with her, as if they had   
touched and... kissed. But how could that be?  
    "Cease that behaviour, Creed," Bishop ordered his charge, who was   
eating the grass.  "Nature feeds off the plants that we set, wild   
animals..." and he caught himself. "But of course, you are a beast,   
aren't you?" He walked slowly, deep in thought and oblivious now to the   
rest of world around him.  Occassionally he glanced over at the patio and   
then back to the grass below his feet.  "How odd, no? That I'd be here   
talking to you, now, after all I've seen in the future and all I know you   
can do... or is it that odd?"  
    "I don't know what that man is doing here, period," Stevie said   
behind him.  She took him quite by surprise and indeed he was humiliated,   
as forseen.  "Hunter... I didn't know you were at the mansion," Bishop   
said meekly.  
    "Sure, I got in late last night. I didn't know that _he_ was still   
here, however." The two glanced at each other and then down at Victor   
again.  He was sniffing Bishop's soles and snorting... almost giggling.   
He hardly seemed hostile. "He hardly seems hostile, you know," Stevie   
said ironically. That was just what Bishop was thinking.  "Yet... to know   
what he's done, it's so hard to accept him, isn't it?"  
    "We all need a second chance, perhaps."  
    Stevie grinned. "You don't really believe that. I know you   
don't." She knew because she had just heard him say so himself. The   
embarassment of the scenario came back to Bishop, as he turned around to   
walk in the opposite direction, toward the mansion where he'd come from.   
"Coming, Hunter?"  
    "Of course... I wanted to see how you were dealing with it.   
Didn't expect to see you playing with him, mind you."  
    "You came to see me? Why is that?" Bishop asked increasing his   
pace to keep up with Victor, who pulled tightly on the leash.  
    "I don't know. Just curious, I guess. Curious what a man like you   
would be doing so early."  
    "And what did you find?" Bishop asked.  He couldn't tell whether   
Stevie was grinning, or sneering.  
    She said simply, "A man who cares about more than himself. Much   
to my surprise."  
  
****  
  
    Tabitha and Rhonda made their way through the mansion, slowly   
remembering the past.  "Remember that time you lost your bra at the MC   
Hammer concert?" Tabitha asked.  
    "Yeah... Now how did that get off?" Rhonda asked, laughing rather   
hysterically.  Both continued to walk down the hallowed halls, abandoned   
by the others.  "Where're the others, anyway? I thought you said this is   
a school."  
    "Oh, sure. Actually, it used to be a school.  Now it's just a fun   
little hangout. Most of my friends are still asleep, actually." She   
mumbled something about lazy butts.  "The others are in the back, I think."  
    Rhonda nodded slowly. "So here we are," she said as they reached   
the foyer. "Back where we started." Just then, Remy and Sam walked in,   
rather sweaty and grinning, until they saw Tabitha and Rhonda and got a   
bit more serious.  
    "Mon dieu, you girls actually woke up," Remy announced. Sam eyed   
Tabitha and tried to smile. Tabitha didn't quite smile back, but put in   
the same effort.  
    "This is Sam, Rhonda," Tabitha said.  "My boyfriend."  
    Sam nodded to the girl. "Hey there... Remy n' ah are headin' down   
to the Danger Room. You girls wanna tag along?" He said, motioning to the   
hallway deeper into the mansion.  
    "Danger Room?" Rhonda asked inquisitively. "What's this? Star Trek?"  
    Tabitha interjected hurriedly. "Ummm, no Sam, I don't think   
that's a hot idea. Not right now." To Rhonda, "Yeah, like I'd be caught   
dead with a script like that."  
    Remy and Sam each shrugged and started to walk down the far   
hallway, until a brilliant flash of light, a swirl of fate, shone behind   
them.  Rhonda hardly yelped. She seemed oddly used to such excitement.    
Strangely, it was Tabitha who screamed, "Shoot! Not now... what a pain."  
    The three X-Men gripped themselves for a fight. Only one vaguely   
recognized the energy signature. Sam calmed down slightly and especially   
when he saw the full portal open and the young woman, particularly famed   
for her age, reputed rock star and mutant sympathizer, secretly a mutant   
teleporter -- Lila Cheney.  
    "Hello, boys," Lila grinned widely.  "Boomer."  
    Tabitha mumbled, "Wannabe..." and waved sarcastically.  
    Only Rhonda was surprised to see this woman. She was a long-time   
fan of this legend, a cult-figure in Village clubs. "Oh God... Lila!"   
Rhonda muttered loudly. Lila glanced over at her and grumbled. "Damn...   
bad timing?"  
    She had tried so hard over the years to keep her identity secret.   
Partly because, in this age, it was so difficult to live a public life as   
a mutant... unless you were eager to face death.  And partly because Lila   
was a secret, but big-time, thief. A dangerous pastime, for sure. But she   
was reckless, adventurous, and often had a habit of pulling her friends   
into a theft. But now this mysterious girl showed up at the most   
inopportune of times, and she now knew that Lila was a mutant herself.  
    "I think I'll go slap myself now," Lila frowned.  
    "Don't worry, Lil," Sam said calmly. "This' Rhonda, a friend.   
And, ah guess, a fan." He smiled then, walking up to Lila and taking her   
hand without thinking too much about it.  "What brings ya down to Earth?"  
    Lila grinned as well and relaxed.  "These." And she tossed an   
envelop in Gambit's direction. He caught it skillfully, ripped it open at   
the edge, and poured its contents into his hand.  
    "Tickets, chere?" he asked.  
    "But o' course," Lila replied in her best Cajun impersonation.   
"What do ya take me for? A t'ief?"  
    The Cajun grinned in response. "Mais oui, chere. I t'ink dat be   
accurate." Apparently the two had a lot in common. "So what're these   
tickets for, Ms. Cheney?"  
    Lila walked over to a sofa and curled her feet under her on the   
couch.  "I'm throwing a concert bash in Mojoworld. Nothing fancy...   
well... I guess it is. Everyone's going to be there. Major Domo, Mojo --   
the second, don't worry, not messy retcons... -- and my good friend Ali   
Blaire." She turned to Rhonda. "That's the Dazzler, for the younger   
audience."  
    Tabitha stood by Rhonda faithfully. "We know who the Dazzler is,   
Lila. We may not be as old as you, but we've heard of disco."  
    Sam turned to Tabs. "Calm down, ok? You don't need to get _too_   
worked up." He grinned, trying very hard.  
    Tabitha nodded. "Yeah, Guthrie, right. Well, Lila darlin', I'd   
love to go. But, wow, I've got a life." She walked out of the room,   
leaving Rhonda to her own devices.  
    Half an hour later, they were off. Not everyone, of course. Only   
Cannonball, Storm, and Cyclops had the courage to face Mojoworld again,   
the land that they've had so many poor experiences in.  Neither of the   
latter two wished to deal with their own problems, they felt an express   
need to unwind. And the former... he couldn't stay away from Lila. The   
thought of listening to her, perhaps a last time, was too much to ignored.  
    The others remained in Westchester. No one was in the mood to   
celebrate, or enjoy themselves. Their friends in pain, some missing,   
others lost, others in a dire search for themselves, and then the world   
crumbling around them, they hardly needed a diversion in the typical   
sense.  They could only hope that their attentiveness would make some   
sort of difference.  
  
****  
  
Somewhere else... between everywhere and absolutely nowhere...  
    She knelt by the candle, a large shrine dedicated to a mysterious   
entity that she hardly understood. He spoke words that she could hardly   
comprehend, asked her to do as he wished for reasons that she would never   
grasp.  
    "You Must... Mother, Be Strong... He Was Wise In His   
Predictions... The Twelve Have Begun Yet Again To Emerge... Find Them,   
Seek Them Out... And Save Them. For They Will Be Those To Survive. The   
Only Ones."  
    She responded with a nod, and a silent, invisible kiss. A kiss of   
souls. She would do as her son begged of her, as it was her undying   
mission. Her candle.  
  
NEXT ISSUE:  Scott, Ororo, and Sam enjoy the security of Mojoworld...   
until that security is jeopardized. Guest-starring Dazzler, Longshot, and   
Lila Cheney. Let alone Mojo II... Welcome Ricochet to the permanent   
writing chores of the series as the two part Mojoworld saga begins!  
  
  



	6. Cable #26

All characters belong to Marvel and we are not making any money at   
all out of this. So there.  
  
CABLE 26: Rebel Without A Cause  
by anon  
  
  
"So, Theresa, I guess you're it," Cable said to his gathered team.  
"Cable... ye canna be serious about this. Are ye sure this is what   
ye want t'be doin'?" Siryn asked, incredulous.  
"I'm... yes, folks, I'm sure. I can't do this anymore. I've got to find a new   
way. X-Force is yours, Theresa," Cable said, trying to look strong in front of the kids.  
"Hey, boss-man, what're you gonna do?" Boomer asked, cracking her gum.  
"I don't know, Tabitha... I'm sure I'll think of something." Cable   
looked around at his now-former charges. "That's all, I suppose. Dom will be sticking   
around for a while, I think. If you've got any real problems, you go talk to her. I'll see   
you around the school. Good-bye." With that, Cable walked out of the conference room   
at Xavier's.  
Out of X-Force.  
  
Later that afternoon, Nathan was in his room cleaning his guns.  
"How'd it go?" Domino asked from the doorway.  
Cable looked up from his pistol. "I think they're in shock, Theresa   
especially. But they're all stronger than they think... they'll do fine. Besides, they've got   
Xavier to direct them if things get really bad."  
"So you're sure this was a good idea?" Dom asked, sitting on the bed.  
"No, of course I'm not sure. But it seemed like the right thing to   
do... I'm not who I thought I was. None of this is what I had originally thought. Any kind of   
leverage I might have had here is out the window. I'm lost."  
"Lost?"   
"I always had the advantage that I knew what would happen   
eventually... I thought I could direct events the way they should be. I never expected to   
shunt my time in the process."  
"Nate... is it gone? Completely, I mean? Do you have no way of   
getting back?"  
"Not completely... If it had been erased entirely I wouldn't be   
here. It just isn't this timeline anymore. As for getting back, I'd need a Tinex to do that."  
"A Timex?"  
"Not TiMex, TiNex. Short for Time Displacement Nexus. It's a   
time-travel device invented by Apocalypse, later refined by the Caananites under Parradian   
Haight. The Tinex could access multiple timelines. The small Tinex on Graymalkin might   
have been able to do it, but..." Cable faltered as he remembered the Professor.  
"I'm... I'm sorry, Nathan."  
"It's all right... I just miss him sometimes, that's all." Cable   
looked back down at his pistol. "After Sl... Scott left, he was the closest thing to a father  
I had. I hope he's enjoying himself."  
"So..." Dom said, trying to change the subject. "What are you going to do?"  
"I dunno," Cable looked up again, thoughtful. "Try to have a normal   
life, I suppose. I do have a law degree. Maybe I could defend mutants."  
"Oh, sure. You'd make a great trial lawyer. Decision doesn't go your   
way, you blow away the judge."  
"Gimme a little credit, Dom. I haven't killed a judge since... it   
must be eight or nine years now. Remember that guy in Botswana?"  
"That little smack? Yeah, he did deserve that," Dom said, laughing.  
'I suppose you're right though... maybe I'll look up some old   
friends... guys I haven't spoken to in years."  
  
"You have friends? Like who?"  
"Whatever happened to Burke?"  
"The 'jacker in Biafra? He works the street in New York."  
"Nathaniel?"  
"Nathaniel who?"  
"Bumpo."  
"Nate, Natty Bumpo's been dead for two hundred years."  
"Oh, that's right. I knew there was a reason I hated the eighteenth   
century. What about Pete Wisdom?"  
"That creep from Black Air? Haven't you been paying attention?"  
"To what?"  
"He's sleeping with Kitty Pryde."  
"Who?"  
"Kitty... never mind. Don't you EVER listen to what's going on   
around here?"  
"Not really, no. Never seemed important," Cable said, reaching over   
for his ion cannon.  
  
After finishing his guns and eating dinner, Nathan was back in his   
room watching television.   
 "Naaaate?" Domino called from the hallway.  
"In here, Dom," he yelled back.  
"Nate, would you do me a really big favor?" Dom asked, trying to   
sound sweet.  
"Oh, shut up, Niles!" the television said.  
"I don't think I like the sound of this. What is it?"  
"Would you get me some ice cream?"  
"What?" Cable asked, turning around.  
"Some Ben and Jerry's. Cookie Dough. Xavier's out."  
"You want me to go get ICE CREAM?"  
"Mmhmm."  
"No, Frasier, YOU shut up!" the television spoke again.  
"I didn't know you ate ice cream," Nathan said as Dom sat next to   
him on the couch.  
"All the time."  
"Where can I get ice cream around here?" he asked, still a little   
thrown aback.  
"At the WaWa in Salem Center."  
"Do they sell 'Guns&Ammo' there?"  
Domino shoved Cable off the couch and threw her car keys at him.  
  
As Nathan pulled out of the driveway in Domino's Miata, a figure   
watched him from across the street.  
"About freakin' time!" the figure muttered to itself, getting up to   
leave. "You'd think the poor bastard never goes anywhere. I mean, jeez, I coulda been   
sitting here all night! Some people just..." The figure ran down Graymalkin Lane after   
the Miata, muttering to itself the entire way to Salem Center.  
  
Nathan scanned the magazine rack at the WaWa, two pints of Ben &   
Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream in hand. He turned over to the guy at the register.  
"Hey, do you have 'Guns&Ammo?'" he asked. The guy gave him a funny   
look he'd received more than once in the store. He supposed it wasn't every day they   
saw a 6'5", 250lb man with white hair.  
After paying for the ice cream, Nathan walked out to the Miata   
mumbling about women and ice cream. Opening the driver's side door, he flung the   
paper bag onto the passenger seat.  
"Ow! Hey, watch where you're throwin' those things! What the hell   
you got in there anyway, bricks? Jeez, these things're heavy... ice cream? What the   
hell are you doing with ice cream?" the passenger seat shouted at him.  
It took Nathan a second to realize that the passenger seat can't   
talk before he pulled out his gun. "All right, who... oh, no!" Nathan moaned, dropping   
his gun to his side and putting his hand to his head.  
"Hey, nice to see you too, Natey-boy!" Deadpool said, putting his   
boots on the dashboard.  
  
"What do you want, Deadpool?" Nathan asked, already exasperated   
after two minutes together.  
"Just some help. You'd think your welcome could have been a little   
more kindly. Throwing that ice cream at me wasn't really..."  
Nathan cut him off quickly. "HELP you?! Give me one good reason,   
hell one BAD reason why I should help YOU."  
"I'll give you money. Lots of it."  
Nathan seemed to consider this possibility. "How much?"  
"Lots. Depends on how much you help me."  
"What do you need, Wilson?"  
"Just some information. On Tolliver."  
Nathan shot to attention. "Tolliver... why on earth do you want to   
know about Tolliver?"  
"Because! He was the best boss I ever had! I want to find out what   
happened to the guy. Word is he's alive somewhere. Some funky cyborg-assassin   
went looking for him a few years back."  
"Yes. Sinsear."  
"How do you know?" Deadpool asked, his mask bunching up as though he   
were raising his eyebrows.  
"I killed him."  
"No you didn't. That's what I'm trying to tell you."  
"Not Tolliver. Sinsear."  
"Oh... thanks. Weas said that guy was gunning for me too. Guess I   
owe you."  
"You were offering me money, as I recall?" Cable asked, trying to   
keep Deadpool on track.  
"Yeah, right... well, since you wasted Tolliver the first time, and   
I heard some cyborg was after him, I figured you might know what was going on."  
"What, you assume all us cyborgs get together?"  
"I dunno! I just want to know if you know anything."  
Nathan pondered this for a moment. Maybe if I send him after Tyler,   
he'll get himself wasted. Maybe Tyler will waste him. Either way there's a good chance   
he'll get wasted. This is too good to pass up.  
"Okay, Deadpool, listen up. I only have one lead, but it's a good   
one. There's a place out in the desert. About four days west of Cairo. Last I heard, Tolliver   
was there," Nathan said, trying to conceal the smirk on his face.  
"You're sure about this?" Deadpool seemed doubtful.  
"Positive. Confirmed lead." Nathan nodded sagely.  
"All righty then! I'll be on my way. But first..." Deadpool reached   
into the passenger seat of the Miata. He pulled out a briefcase and threw it at Nathan.  
"What's this?" Nathan asked.  
"Hundred and twenty-five large. For the help. Thanks!" Deadpool   
said, running off into the forest.  
Nathan opened the briefcase and tried vainly to catch all the money   
that fell out.  
  
"So you took a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars from   
Deadpool and sent him off after Tyler? Are you crazy?" Dom asked him that night at  
the kitchen table over the ice cream.  
"Not at all. Way I see it, we get the money and hopefully Deadpool   
gets himself killed. It's a win-win situation."  
"When you put it that way..."  
"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."  
"I hope so... Nate, have you seen this?" Dom said, indicating a   
newspaper.  
"What...? That Graydon Creed is running for President? Sure."  
"No... that there's going to be a big fundraising party for his   
campaign next Thursday at the FOH Headquarters in New York."  
"So"  
"Don't you get it? Every rich mutant-hater in the free world is   
gonna be at this. This is a golden intel opportunity."  
"So what? You're saying I should put on a disguise, crash the party,   
and ransack the joint?"  
"Basically."  
"To what end?"  
"To screw Creed over, that's what! Think of the damage we could do!"  
Nathan raised an eyebrow at Dom. "We?"  
"Well, you can't go to a fancy party like that by yourself, can   
you?"  
"No, I suppose not..." Nathan said, his voice trailing off.  
"Nate? Something wrong?" Dom asked him.  
Nathan returned to reality. "Nothing, Dom. I was just wondering if   
my tux still fit."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
  
Next issue: Cable crashes a party, a window, and into the ground. Fun   
with the FOH, in CABLE 27  
  



	7. Uncanny X-Men #327

***********************************************  
Okay, I'm not Ricochet, but I am the new regular writer on   
Uncanny X-Men, so there. Oh, this is X-Writers, a fan-  
fiction group with its own version of current X-continuity,   
and we don't get any cash from anyone anywhere, so we'd   
really like it if we weren't sued. Most of the characters used   
here are copyright of Marvel Comics, except for the ones   
that aren't.   
  
***********************************************  
 Uncanny X-Men #327 - The Show Must Go On  
 Written by Andrew Wheeler   
 Edited by Marysia  
***********************************************  
   
A flash of light, a circle of energy, and four figures   
emerged from their jaunt through space, and between   
dimensions, to the Mojoworld. They found themselves on a   
vast stage in an empty arena.  'Ta-da!' said Lila 'Welcome to   
StormDome.'    
  
 'StormDome?' asked Ororo, her curiosity piqued.  
  
 'Longshot and Ali wanted to name the new arena after   
their glorious former leader.' Lila explained. 'Betcha that   
never happened to you, eh, Scotty?'  
  
 'Wow.' gasped Sam as he tried to take in the enormity of   
the place. 'You performing *here* tonight Lila?'  
  
 'Yup.' she replied. 'And it'll be packed.'  
  
 'It had better be.' said a voice. They turned to see a pale,   
beady eyed man in a smart suit and slicked back hair   
approaching.  
  
 'Hello, Mojo.' said Lila. 'May I introduce you to Scott   
Summers, Sam Guthrie and, of course, Ororo Monroe, also   
known as...'  
  
 'Storm.' interrupted MojoII. 'Delighted to meet you.' He   
bowed to kiss her hand. 'You will, of course, open the   
concert for us tonight?'  
  
 'I will?' puzzled Storm.  
  
 'This will be the first ever performance in this stadium, we   
would be honoured to have you officially give your name to   
it.' said Mojo.  
  
 'Oh. Well, if you insist...'  
  
 'I do.' smiled Mojo. 'You will come on after the support   
act, say a few words, and then introduce Lila.'  
  
 'Say a few words?' gasped Ororo. 'I... I don't think I   
could...'  
  
 'Uh-oh! Heads up, people!' shouted Sam suddenly. He   
pointed to the sky where a small publicity rocket, trailing a   
promotion for the concert, was headed directly towards the   
stage. Storm immediately summoned a wind to rise from   
the still air. She buoyed up on it as it passed around her,   
then sent it to carry the rocket clear of the StormDome and   
into a hoarding of Lila's face, where it jammed itself into   
the metal scaffold.   
  
 'Ouch.' muttered Lila.  
  
 'Mojo, about this speech...' said Storm, turning back to   
face him. But he had run off backstage for fear of the   
rocket hitting him.   
  
 'Looks like he's as spineless as his predecessor.' claimed   
Scott.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 'What happened?' she muttered, a hand shooting out from   
behind the screen as she put on a jacket.   
  
 'It was diverted.' replied the stout round figure whose   
bulbous face was peering out of a television monitor in the   
woman's dressing room. He was desperately trying to catch   
a glimpse of the woman behind the screen.  
  
 'It was supposed to be fixed to hit Cheney.' scowled the   
woman.  
  
 'Well, it did in a way.' replied the lackey.  
  
 'DuHickie, if she's not incapacitated by this afternoon...'   
the voice began to snarl.  
  
 'But Mojo let her cross dimensions to the X-Men world.   
She has protection now.' complained DuHickie. 'We can't   
get to her.'  
  
 A figure emerged at last from behind the screen. She wore   
a short red dress beneath her suede jacket, the whole outfit   
embellished with decorative artificial circuitry. She was   
slender in build and elegant, with her long, lithe legs and   
her slim, tall body. She had lips fixed in a pout, and her   
eyes... such soft, ephemeral blue eyes, caressed by her fine   
long lashes. The delicate, innocent visage was offset by her   
very short blonde hair. To look at her you would have to   
say... as little as the moment asked of you. She was a   
woman with attitude, matched with beauty.  
  
 'Fine.' she whispered. 'If you can't deal with it, I'll find   
someone who can. And then they can deal with you.'  
  
 'Jezebelle, wait! Maybe I can try something.' said DuHickie   
in a panic.  
  
 'I don't give second chances, DuHickie.'  
  
 'Haven't I always been a reliable one?' claimed DuHickie.  
  
 'True, but I need a mercenary right now, not a roadie.'  
  
 'There's a difference?'  
  
 'One more try, DuHickie, and only one, so make it count.   
If you fail this time then I'll turn to... her.'  
  
 DuHickie turned a little paler than he already was, verging   
on transparent.  
  
'Her?' he gulped.   
  
 'Her.' repeated Jezebelle as she turned off the screen.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 'A speech.' muttered Ororo. 'I can't do a speech. I've never   
done a speech.' The four of them were walking along the   
corridors of the backstage section of StormDome.  
  
 'Sure you have.' claimed Sam. 'All the time you're giving   
little speeches.'  
  
 'Not to so many people. How many people does the arena   
hold Lila?'  
  
 'The arena? Forget who's in the arena, this baby will be   
televised.'  
  
 'Televised?' gasped Storm.  
  
 'This is the Mojoverse, 'Rory, what did you expect?'  
  
 'By all that is sacred!' muttered Storm. 'I'm going to be on   
television? Oh no. I can't do that. Let Scott give the speech.'  
  
 'No chance.' argued Cyclops. 'This is StormDome, you   
have to give the speech.'  
  
 'But... but...' Storm floundered, 'I wouldn't be good for   
ratings.'  
  
 'Are you kidding?' replied Lila. 'Storm of the X-Men? Do   
you have any idea how popular that show was? Of course,   
Wolverine would have been a bigger draw, but Ali insisted   
on you.'  
  
 'I am most honoured.' muttered Storm. She saw a poster   
on one of the walls, advertising the concert. 'I'm already   
mentioned in the publicity.'  
  
 'Oh, we've had you slated to come for weeks.'  
  
 'You didn't think to tell me this?'  
  
 'I know better than to do that.' said Lila.  
  
 'Who is Jezebelle?' asked Cyclops, staring at the smallest   
print on the poster.  
  
 'The support.' replied Lila. 'Trying to make a name for   
herself, so Mojo gave her a chance. Personally, I'm not sure   
she's worth it.'  
  
 'Can't sing?' asked Cannonball.  
  
 'Sure she can sing, but she's a total bitch with it. We don't   
need more people like her in this business.' claimed Lila.   
'Ah, here we are, my den.' She pushed open the double   
doors to reveal what was more a hotel suite than a dressing  
room. 'Better than anything at old Charlies', eh?' said Lila.  
  
 - - - -  
  
  'Salutations, Robert.' said Beast as he swung down from   
the top of the door frame at the front of 'old Charlie's'.   
'Going somewhere?'  
  
  'Just to the Academy in Massachusetts. I have to settle   
something.' replied Bobby, throwing his bag onto the   
passenger seat of the car parked at the foot of the mansion.    
'I'll be back soon enough.'  
  
 'I hope so. We seem to be running out of X-Men.' claimed   
Beast.  
  
 'Running out?' asked Bobby.  
  
 'I imagine Hank is referring to the fact that everyone is off   
on their own errands today.' said Charles as he joined them   
outside. 'You're going off to the school, Ororo, Scott and   
Sam are in the Mojoverse, and Warren has headed off on a   
field trip of his own with Elisabeth and Bishop in tow.'  
  
 'And I have to go pick up a friend at the airport and drop   
off Tabitha's friend Rhonda.' added Hank, 'So that means   
only Gambit and Sabretooth are here at the mansion, until   
Jean and Wolverine make their expected return.'  
  
 'Well, let's hope nothing big happens.' said Bobby. 'I have   
every faith in Jean, but I'm not too sure about the others.'  
  
 'Yes.' agreed Charles. 'Let us hope nothing happens.'  
  
 - - - -  
  
  There was a knock on the dressing room door. Lila peered   
up over the back of the recliner which she had easily   
persuaded Sam to share with her. 'Can somebody get that   
for me?' she asked.  
  
 Scott sighed and went to the door.  
  
 'Like it here, do you, Sam?' asked Lila, lying on her back,   
with him propped up on his elbow lying next to her.  
  
 'Sure. It's a nice place.' replied Sam.  
  
 'No, I mean _here_.' emphasised Lila.   
  
 Sam blushed. 'Ah... I'm with Tabitha now, Lila.' he told   
her. 'You know that.'  
  
 'But she's not here, and she's not likely to turn up here.'   
pointed out Lila.  
  
 'No!' insisted Sam. 'I could never do that to her.'  
  
 'Oh.' said Lila. 'I see. Well, perhaps later when Scott and   
Ororo aren't...'  
  
 As if on cue, Scott loomed over the recliner, a huge bunch   
of flowers in his hands. 'Someone sent you these.' said   
Scott.  
  
 'For me?' said Lila. She looked at the attached note. 'Oh,   
they're from Mojo. "Hope it all goes well tonight". Well,   
he's not very original, but his heart is in the right place.'  
  
 'His pocket.' muttered Scott.   
  
 'Put them in that vase for me, would you Scott?' asked   
Lila.  
  
 'Are we staying here all day?' Scott asked as he filled the   
vase with water. 'It's a... great dressing room, but...'  
  
 'Have no fear, Scott. We'll go visit the happy couple at the   
palace soon.'  
  
 'Alison and Longshot?' asked Storm, looking up from the   
pad of paper she had been trying to compose her speech   
on. 'I would love to see them again. It feels like it's been   
forever.'  
  
 Just then, MojoII entered the room.  
  
 'You could have knocked.' said Lila.  
  
 'I could, but I didn't.' replied Mojo. 'I've brought you some   
flowers as a good luck token.' he explained, revealing a   
rather small bunch from behind his back.   
  
 'Flowers?' puzzled Lila. She swivelled her head to where   
Scott was standing, the vase in his hand. Storm turned to   
look at it, as did Sam. In the silent moment of confusion,   
they could all make out a vaguely audible ticking sound.  
  
 'Oh, I see you already have some flowers.' said Mojo,   
oblivious to the situation.  
  
 'It's a bomb.' gulped Lila. Scott very carefully reached out   
his arm at full length, the vase in his hand. He looked   
pointedly towards Sam.  
  
 'I'll deal with it, shall I?' said Sam. He leapt to his feet and   
flew towards the flowers. He plucked them from the vase   
and held them to his chest so that they were within his field   
of invulnerability. He then smashed out through the   
window. When he was some distance into the air, he   
dropped the flowers. A moment later, there was an   
explosion. Sam returned unscathed.  
  
 'I hope those weren't from you.' Lila scowled at Mojo.   
Mojo was too stunned to do more than shake his head   
before he fainted.  
  
 'I thought he helped lead the rebellion against his obese   
predecessor?' said Storm.  
  
 'Yeah, that was before he became an executive.' said Lila.   
'Nowadays he's too stressed and unsettled to be a   
revolutionary. Can someone get rid of his flowers please?   
Just in case?'  
   
 - - - -  
  
 Charlotte Jones sat at her desk at the Precinct head-  
quarters, playing with a pen in her left hand. 'Hello,   
Charlotte.' said a voice. She looked up. 'Warren!' she   
gasped. 'Thank you for responding to my call. As ever.'  
  
 'It's becoming a tradition.' he replied 'I hope you don't mind   
that I've brought along a couple of friends.' He stepped   
aside to reveal Betsy and Bishop. 'I don't think you've met   
these two?'  
  
 'No, but I know who they are.' claimed Charlotte.   
'Elisabeth Braddock and the enigmatic Bishop. Nice to meet   
you.'  
  
 'Pleasure's all mine.' replied Betsy. There was a sudden   
chill in the air.  
  
 'I asked Warren if I could come along.' added Bishop. 'I am   
interested to witness the police procedure in this era.' This   
was only half the truth. He also didn't want to be too far   
from Betsy.  
  
 'Well, you've chosen an unusual case to come along on.'   
said Charlotte. 'My partner has been killed, as have two   
other officers, and their families, all in similar circum-  
stances. I think I may be next, Warren. I hope you'll  
help me track this killer down.'  
  
 'Why would you be next?' asked Warren.   
  
 'My partner and I and the other two officers were all   
present at the arrest of the same individual five years ago.   
Now he's escaped.'  
  
 'You know who it was?' asked Warren.  
  
 'I think so.'  
  
 'Then why do you need me?'  
  
 'Because the killer is a mutant, Warren. I can't take him in   
without your help.' explained Charlotte.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 The room was vast, as big as the stadium from which they   
had just come. The glittering bronze columns ascended   
high above their heads to a mosaic covered ceiling. The   
mosaic was a simple one: a golden star across a dark  
blue background. It was a familiar motif.  
  
 'Impressive.' said Storm, looking up and around.  
  
 'I was kinda expecting a glitterball.' said Cannonball.  
  
 A low, tinny noise was reverberating around the walls; tsh-  
tsh-tsh-tsh. It sounded like a bass beat played in whispers.   
Storm gazed across the long hall to the far wall at a huge   
pair of thrones, each of which also bore the star motif.   
Storm could just make out a figure in one of the thrones.   
On a gust of wind, she carried herself across to the throne.   
As she drew nearer she could clearly recognise Alison   
Blaire, the Dazzler, lying spread-eagled across her throne,   
eyes shut, listening to a portable stereo on headphones.  
  
 'Alison!' gasped Storm.  
  
 Dazzler opened one eye. 'Ororo! You made it!' she   
squealed, tearing off  her headphones. 'It's great to see you   
again. It's been far too long.'  
  
 'It has, but we do live quite a distance apart.' said Storm   
with a smile, giving Alison a warm hug.  
  
 'So what's up, Windrider? How is everyone. Lila has kept   
me up to speed on all the gossip, but I want to hear it from   
you.' insisted Dazz. 'How's Guido now?'  
  
 'Much as he was, no signs of improvement yet.' said   
Storm. 'Scott is here too, as is Cannonball, the first New   
Mutant to graduate.'  
  
 'Lila's toy boy?' grinned Ali with a nudge. 'Wow. I can't   
believe you're back here 'Ro. Especially in a time of   
_peace_ for a change.'  
  
 'I see the child is approaching birth.' said Storm, noting the   
size of Ali's stomach. 'But... hasn't it been longer than nine   
months?'  
  
 'Hey, Ororo, this kid inside of me is half alien, y'know? It's   
refusing to grow at the normal rate.' said Dazzler.  
  
 'Are you not worried, Alison? How do you know the child   
is healthy?'  
  
 'Hope, Ororo. Besides, we're mutants, we know every kid   
doesn't turn out a dream. I just have to be optimistic. Oh,   
you're giving the speech tonight, aren't you?'  
  
 'Don't remind me.' sighed Storm.  
  
 'I'm looking forward to it. I swear to you, 'Ro, you gotta go   
up on a stage like that one at least once in your life. You've   
gotta get that buzz from so many people listening to you,   
just you, hanging on your every word, watching your  
every move, just once in your life.  I'd be up there singing   
myself if it weren't for the booper.'   
  
 'I don't feel any better about it, Alison.' sighed Ororo.   
'Where is Longshot?'  
  
 'Catch me if you can, Storm!' cried a voice from above.   
Everyone looked up to a high balcony above the thrones.   
Longshot stood on the railings for a moment, then threw   
himself off.  
  
 'Holy...' began Cannonball, about to launch himself into   
the air. Scott placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
 'Hold it, Sam.' he told him. 'I get the feeling they know   
what they're doing.'  
  
 Sure enough a wind rose up beneath the hollow boned   
former X-Man, lifting him even higher than the balcony, up   
into the dome of the ceiling. He rose along the length of the   
star on the updraft, then down the other side. He began to   
descend like a leaf, the wind lessening in intensity to allow   
him to fall. He grabbed the red curtain on the wall far   
opposite the thrones and twisted it in his arms so that he   
could slide to the ground, touching down with a balletic   
grace.   
  
 'Hiya, Storm!' bellowed Longshot through cupped hands   
across the length of the room.  
  
 'Come over here at once!' ordered Storm, sneaking the   
same gust of wind up behind him and carrying him clear   
across the room. 'You'll be the death of me with those   
games of yours.' she chided.  
  
 Lila, Sam and Cyclops finally made it on foot across the   
room. 'Guys, I love a reunion as much as the next person,   
but we have something important to do here.' said Lila,   
drawing level with Storm.  
  
 'Serious?' said Longshot. He adopted his best "serious"   
face.  
  
 'Someone tried to kill me.' claimed Lila.  
  
 'What?' gasped Dazzler. 'You're kidding me. Who would   
do a thing like that?'  
   
 - - - -  
  
 Jezebelle glared angrily at her small, repugnant, grossly   
overweight roadie. 'Failed again eh, DuHickie?' she   
sneered. 'I said this was your last chance. Not only did you   
goof, but you made sure she *knew* someone was gunning   
for her. She's probably at the palace right now enlisting the   
help of Lord and Lady Bimbo.'  
  
 'Sorry' mumbled DuHickie.   
  
 'Show's over DuHickie, your contract just got terminated.'   
claimed Jezebelle.   
  
 'What d'you mean? You're not going to kill me are you?' he   
blubbed.  
  
 'Oh no.' DuHickie gave a relieved sigh. 'She is.' said   
Jezebelle, pointing over DuHickie's head. DuHickie bent his   
head back to follow her arm. First he saw the ceiling, then   
the top of the wall behind him, then a raised sword. Then   
two arms gripping the sword. Then a grinning face. Then   
the other four arms.  
  
 'Uh-oh.' said DuHickie, and that was all he said.  
   
 - - - -  
  
 Beast, image inducer firmly in place, stood in the airport   
lounge outside the Arrivals pen having successfully placed   
Rhonda on the flight to Los Angeles. His eyes darted from   
face to face across the collection of assorted men and   
women flown direct from Hong Kong.  
  
 'I hate long haul flights.' said a voice over his shoulder.   
'Hello Dr McCoy.'  
  
 Hank turned around to face the slim asian woman behind   
him. 'Hello Dr Yeung. Glad you made it.'  
  
 'Glad you called. I was at a loose end after the research   
centre closed down to move to New Zealand. I could have   
gone with it, of course, but before I could make up my   
mind I got your call.'  
  
 'I hope you can afford to spend a little time helping me   
with my research.' said Hank. 'I mean, I can't pay you for   
your time...'  
  
 'Hush, Henry. I'm still writing for New Science Journal, I   
can pay my own way. If you want me to help with Legacy,   
then I'm more than happy to do so. Shall we head back and   
make a start?'  
  
 'Actually, I'd rather hoped we could do something else this   
evening. Bobby and Charles keep telling me I spend too   
much time slaving over a hot viroid. I need a night to   
refresh the brain cells.'  
  
 'Fine. Let's go see which of us can drink the most tequilas   
in one night.' said Dr Alice Yeung. 'That should do   
*something* to the brain cells at least.'  
   
 - - - -  
  
 The wind shook through the decrepit old apartment block,   
chilling its visitors as much as the dark atmosphere itself.  
  
 'This is where we found him. Them.' said Charlotte.  
  
 'I'd almost think I was developing empathic abilities, the   
darkness is so palpable in here.' said Psylocke, shining her   
torch about the room.  
  
 'We can all feel it.' added Warren. 'Okay, Charlotte, what   
happened here?'  
  
 'He killed his parents and his younger sister. He cut them   
to pieces. We found him here among the carnage, carving   
his name out all over the wall.' She shone the torch up onto   
the wall where the same word was scarred out over and   
over again. Anthony.  
  
 'Why would he do a thing like that?' asked Bishop.  
  
 'He said he wanted people to remember who he was. A   
person, not a monster, not a freak.' explained Charlotte.   
'That's why he killed his family. When his powers emerged   
they were all terrified of him, they said he was unnatural.   
He was so upset, so maligned by their reaction, that he   
killed them all. When we arrested him it took all four of us   
to restrain him, and we all sustained injuries, He said we   
were the same as his family, we were judging him for being   
a freak. He's already killed the others, he'll kill me next if   
you can't find him.'  
  
 'And he killed their families as well?' asked Betsy.  
  
 'Like he killed his own. And he scarred his name on all   
their bodies, and on the walls of the scenes of his crimes.'  
  
 'He sounds like a monster to me.' claimed Bishop.  
  
 'He says he doesn't want to kill.' said Charlotte.  
  
 'Then why does he?' asked Archangel.   
  
 'He says his powers make him do it.' she explained.  
  
 Archangel stared at Charlotte for a moment, an expression   
of anxiety crossing his face. Then he turned to face the wall   
with the name Anthony scrawled all across it. And he   
imagined it scrawled with the name 'Warren'.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Jezebelle sat, wine glass in hand, staring across the room at   
Spiral. 'My soul?' she repeated.  
  
 'Yes, that is all I ask. I give you the means to make a name   
for yourself, and I take your soul. You're a performer, you   
don't need it.'  
  
 'I don't understand.' claimed Jezebelle. 'You can't take my   
soul. It's not possible.'  
  
 'Then you have nothing to fear.'  
  
 'And even if you could, what would it mean?'  
  
 'That I would possess your soul.' stated Spiral calmly.   
'Simply that.'  
  
 Jezebelle stared into the deep red in the glass, focusing on   
her own reflection. Spiral began to drum her thirty fingers   
together.  
  
 'What would we do?' she asked at last. 'I mean, if the X-  
Men are protecting her, how will you kill her?'  
  
 'I? I will do nothing beyond give you the power. It is up to   
you to deal with Cheney as you see fit.' grinned Spiral.  
  
 'But if I do that there's no way Programme Controller   
Mojo will let me do the concert.' claimed Jezebelle.   
  
 'Who said he has to let you?' argued Spiral. 'You must steal   
the show, dear Jezebelle. You must upstage her.'  
  
 A faint, self satisfied smile crossed Jezebelle's lips. 'Okay.'   
she said. 'Let's do it.'  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Early evening on Mojoworld, very early morning at the   
mansion. Gambit arrived home from an all-nighter, making   
the short trip from the cab to the door with a steady lurch.   
He walked inside and looked around.  
  
 'Hnh.' he grunted. 'Looks like ever'one gone to bed.'  
  
 He stumbled up the stairs towards his room and walked   
sideways into a portrait on the wall, knocking it down with   
a crash. 'Ah, putain!' he shouted, picking himself up. Then   
he realised he may have woken somebody up. He listened.  
  
 Not a sound.  
  
 'Now that's strange.' he whispered. 'This be the Professor's   
room itself right here, he'd've woken up.'  
  
 Gambit stuck his head around the door of Xavier's room.   
Empty. He tried a few more rooms. All empty.  
  
 'Either they all been abducted by aliens or else they all got   
something better to do than sleep.' he decided. 'Ain't   
nobody here but us Cajuns.'  
  
 He headed on towards his own room. Then stopped.  
  
 'Wait. There's one person can't have gone out.' he realised.   
'Maybe I should go take him for a walk.'  
  
 (As for just where Charlie has gone, check out current X-  
Writer issues of X-Men and Wolverine.)  
   
 - - - -  
  
 'You two should really head back.' claimed Warren, sat at a   
table with Charlotte, Bishop and Bets. 'It's so late it's early.'   
he claimed.  
  
 'If this madman comes for Officer Jones I want to be here   
waiting for him.' said Bishop.  
  
 'I'm not going anywhere.' added Betsy. 'We can take shifts   
to stay up.'  
  
 'That's probably best, Warren.' agreed Charlotte. 'You and   
I need to be fit and alert tomorrow if we want to track   
down this monster.'  
  
 'Fine. I'll be first.' said Warren.  
  
 'Elisabeth, you sleep in my bed.' said Charlotte. 'Warren   
and Bishop can alternate on the sofa bed. I'll sleep with   
Timmy.'  
  
 Charlotte got up from her chair and crossed to her son's   
room. She silently opened the door. Then she screamed.  
  
 Warren ran to her side and stared though the darkness over   
her shoulder. Timmy's bed was empty, and there, scrawled   
on the wall, was the name 'Anthony'.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 'She's finished.' snarled MojoII. 'She'll never work in this   
dimension again.' He marched angrily back and forth in   
front of the backstage assembly of Lila, Dazzler, Storm,   
Cyclops, Longshot and Cannonball. Lila was in her stage   
gear, Storm in an elegant dress, the others all in black,   
dressed as stage hands.  
  
 'Personally I think this 'Jezebelle' must be a very intelligent   
woman to not turn up.' argued Ororo. 'Someone wants Lila   
dead, the whole show should be cancelled.'  
  
 'Not a chance, 'Ro.' replied Lila. 'The show must go on,   
and this lot will protect me if anything happens.'  
  
 'If we cancelled then nothing *could* happen.' said Storm.  
  
 'I thought this media based way of life...'  
  
 'Mediocrity?' suggested Sam.  
  
 '...was a thing of the past.' said Cyclops. 'You can't   
endanger her life and the life of every person in that   
stadium just because of a concert.'  
  
 'You don't understand, Cyclops.' said Longshot. 'Mojo-  
world has been governed by the media too long. We can't   
just change that overnight. What *has* stopped is the   
exploitation, Mojo has seen to that. Besides, if we cancel   
now then that whole crowd will riot.'   
  
 'And as Lila says, the show must go on. It's the oldest rule   
in show business. If you say you're putting on a show, you   
put on a show.' added Dazzler.  
  
 'And what a show it'll be.' said Lila. 'Well, this Jezebelle   
obviously isn't coming. Mojo, darling, go intro Storm to the   
adoring public. She has a speech to make.'  
  
 'Oh I really don't think that this is a good idea, Lila, I'm   
sure there are a hundred better people to open this stadium   
than I, really...' babbled Ororo as MojoII dragged her by   
the arm towards the maws of publicity.  
   
 A cheer went up from the assembled crowd, so loud that   
Storm could no longer hear the furious pounding of her   
heart. She looked out over the masses, so many people she   
couldn't make out even one of them. She gave a little gulp,   
tried to wet her drying throat, and made a move for the   
microphone.  '...' she croaked, not a sound escaping her   
lips.   
  
 The crowd was silent, waiting for her first words.  
  
 She turned her head desperately towards the wings, but the   
others just looked imploringly at her. She inhaled deeply,   
turned to the crowd again, and then...  
  
 'Get out of the spotlight, sweetheart, you're taking up   
space.' screamed a voice. Storm looked over the crowd,   
aghast that she had just been heckled. Then she saw the   
heckler. She had short blonde hair, a suede jacket, a dress   
emblazoned with circuitry, and an attitude. And she was   
hovering above the masses.  'Your speech is through, girl.   
The main event just arrived.' bragged Jezebelle.  
  
 'Oh my.' said MojoII offstage. 'This should be good for   
ratings.'   
  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
     Next issue: As Jezebelle makes her bid for fame,   
     Warren goes looking for a killer, and Beast goes   
     looking for Gambit.   
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  



	8. Uncanny X-Men #328

***********************************************  
This is X-Writers, a fan-fiction group with its own version   
of current X-continuity, and we don't get any cash from   
anyone anywhere, so we'd really like it if we weren't sued.   
Most of the characters used here are copyright of Marvel   
Comics, except for the ones that aren't. Dr Faustus isn't  
copyright of anyone, as Christopher Marlowe has  
been dead for a very long time indeed.  
***********************************************  
 Uncanny X-Men #328 - That Faustus May Repent.  
 Written by Andrew Wheeler   
 Edited by Marysia  
***********************************************  
   
 Ororo Monroe; mutant, X-Man, wind-rider, goddess; had just   
been about to make her first real public speech. She had been   
prevented in this endeavour by a heckler. The heckler in   
question, a singer by the name of Jezebelle, was planning to   
become the latest hit on Mojoworld. Even if she had to take   
the world by Storm.   
  
 'Who on earth is that?' asked Dazzler, staring out from the   
wings at Jezebelle, hovering over the crowd.   
  
 'The support act, Alison dear.' said MojoII. 'Though I don't   
remember her listing flight among her skills on the CV.'  
   
 Storm glared at Jezebelle, a sheen of anger flashing like   
lightning across her face. 'You must be the one who tried  
to kill Lila.' determined Storm.  
  
 'Yeah, and now I'm going to do worse. I'm going to take  
over her show.' claimed Jezebelle. Lila could be heard gasping   
in horror. 'And you aren't going to stop me.'  
   
 'Think again.' said Storm. Black clouds began to form   
overhead. The low crackle of building thunder emerged above   
the stunned hush of the audience. A deluge of rain hit down   
on the open air stadium.  
  
 'Ooh, I'm scared.' said Jezebelle. 'Going to drown me, are   
you?' She bolted down from the air and barrelled into Storm,   
slamming her against the back of the stage. Then Jezebelle   
herself was hit sideways on by Cannonball. She too was   
slammed into a wall, but unlike Storm, she recovered at once.   
She pursued Sam as he doubled back for a second hit. Then a   
solid light beam hit her in the side. She reeled slightly, then   
turned to face Dazzler.  
  
 'Well, well, well, if it isn't her Ladyship.' sneered Jezebelle. 'I   
can take more than a little laser, sweetheart.'  
  
 'Keep talking and you'll get it.' replied Dazzler. 'You picked   
the wrong day to launch your career.'  
   
 'Not at all.' claimed the upstart. 'I must have a huge audience.'  
  
 'She has a point there.' agreed Mojo, still lurking in the wings.  
  
 'Dazzler shouldn't be out there!' complained Cyclops. 'She's   
pregnant!'  
  
 'Dammit, Mojo, call out security.' insisted Lila.  
  
 'And evacuate the stadium.' added Cyclops.  
   
 'Are you kidding?' asked Longshot. 'They have the best seats   
available for this spectacle. Nothing will shift them.'  
  
 'Not even a little audience participation?' suggested Cyclops.  
  
 'What does that mean?' asked Mojo.  
  
 'You'll see.' said Cyclops. He grabbed Longshot's arm and   
headed on to the stage towards Storm.  
  
 Meanwhile, Jezebelle was flying rings around Cannonball.   
'She's faster than me!' he complained. 'How can she control   
herself?' Jezebelle crashed into the stage, leaving a   
considerable dent in it without hurting herself.  
  
 'She doesn't.' replied Dazzler. 'Looks like she's invulnerable.'  
  
 Jez swooped in a wide arc, towards the backstage wings   
where MojoII was standing with Lila. The pair dashed away   
just a moment before she smashed through the entire wall.   
Again, she was unscathed. She wrenched a metal pipe from   
the backstage scaffold and lunged towards Cannonball  
with it. Suddenly she found herself pulled up short as a   
microphone lead wrapped around her leg. She turned to see   
the other end tied to a massive amplifier, Longshot leaning   
against it with a broad grin.  
  
 Jezebelle grinned back as she flew on with a burst of renewed   
energy, pulling the amplifier from the stage and swinging it   
from her leg over the audience, who cleared away beneath it.   
The mike wire snapped under the weight of the amp, which   
crashed to the ground.  
  
 'That was hardly lucky, Longshot.' complained Dazzler,   
attempting once again to get a clear shot at Jezebelle. 'You   
could have killed someone.'  
  
 'But lucky I didn't, and it cleared the crowd from in front of   
the stage.' replied Longshot. 'Now I just need to get *you* out   
of here.'  
  
 Jezebelle then scooped up the amplifier and hurled it towards   
Dazzler. Longshot ran towards her, then slid onto his knees.   
He shot across the stage, knocking Dazzler down so that she   
fell into his lap, and slid on, clearing the area beneath the   
plummeting amp just in time.  
  
 Cyclops was backstage again, this time with Storm, who was   
regaining consciousness after her blow. Lila had been taken to   
a safer part of StormDome, as it was her life that was in   
danger. Mojo II handed Scott a glass of water, which he   
promptly threw in Storm's face.  
  
 'Aah!' gasped Ororo, reacting to the icy awakening. 'That was   
unceremonious.' she claimed.   
  
 'I need you to evacuate the stadium.' said Cyclops. 'Get the   
people to safety.'  
   
 'Of course.' said Storm. 'What will you do?'  
  
 'He'll be destroying the cameras.' said MojoII. The two team   
leaders stared at him. 'I've had an idea.' he explained. 'The   
audience out there isn't the only one we have to get rid of.'  
  
 - - - -  
  
 The mansion of Professor Charles Xavier. Home of the X-  
Men. But the X-Men aren't home. Except for Dr Hank   
McCoy, the mutant known as the Beast, and his friend Dr   
Alice Yeung. Just returned from a night of drunken revelry,   
they naturally enough came back to the mansion to... to visit   
the lab?  
   
 'Ooh.' said Alice with the fascination only a drunk person can   
muster. 'What a lot of stuff you've got. Hey, that rhymes.'  
  
 'So it does.' replied Hank. 'So it does. Look at this.' He   
activated a holographic generator and the Legacy Virus   
schematic appeared.   
  
 'Ooh.' said Alice again. 'Looks like a helter skelter.'  
  
 'That's the DNA Alice. It always looks like a helter skelter.'   
replied Beast.  
   
 'I never noticed that before.' she replied.  
   
 Beast stared at the projection. 'No.' he confessed. 'Neither   
have I.' He gazed at the hologram a little longer, tilting his   
head along it's curves until he lost his balance and fell over.   
Alice laughed hysterically and then fell over herself.  
  
 'Oh dear!' laughed Alice. 'That was silly.' She grabbed a   
swivel chair to haul herself back up. It swivelled and she was   
thrown mercilessly back down again. She laughed some more,   
as the Beast lay on his back staring up at the virus.  
  
 'It's a viroid, you know.' said Beast. 'We call it a virus, but it's   
  
a viroid.' Alice was laughing too hard to speak. 'Hmph.'  
He reached up to press a button, and deactivated the   
hologram.  
  
 Alice, breathless with laughter, spoke up again. 'You turned it   
off!' she complained, clambering onto her feet with the benefit   
of a workbench, scattering a paperback and a sheaf of notes   
onto the floor.  
  
 'That's my Ray Bradbury!' muttered Beast.  
  
 'Turn on the helter skelter.' insisted Alice.  
  
 Beast stared at his book, contemplating the fact that he had  
probably lost his place now, then looked at the hologram   
generator. 'That's nothing.' he told her. 'You should see the...   
uh... room with all the... uh... room with... where we go   
practising in.' said Beast.  
  
 He walked out of the lab, leaving Alice behind. She   
regathered herself moderately, then went staggering off in   
pursuit. She had to run to keep up, and wasn't having much   
luck. Beast finally stopped outside the Danger Room where he   
entered the observation and control booth. By the time Alice   
caught him he was sitting at the controls, staring out at a scenic   
woodland.  
  
 'What's this?' asked Alice.  
  
 'Big hologram.' said Beast, avoiding going into the details he   
couldn't remember. 'Set to... um... why is it a wood-land?' He   
pressed a few controls and the woodland faded to reveal a   
bare, metallic room. Completely empty.  
   
 'Wow.' said Alice. 'Where did all the things go?'  
  
 'Something's missing.' muttered Beast. 'What's missing?'  
  
 'Everything.' replied Alice. 'You made it all go.'  
  
 Then realisation dawned. 'Oh my stars and garters.' he   
gasped. 'Where's Sabretooth?'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 The rain had turned torrential, beating down forcefully on the   
Mojoworld audience. That, combined with the fact that this   
was a tropical storm, and the water was very warm, seemed to   
be having the desired effect of washing away the crowd.   
Already the Stadium was three-quarters empty.  
  
 'Thank you for coming. Please keep your ticket, and we will   
refund you for the cost.' said the voice of MojoII across the   
tannoy systems.   
  
 Jezebelle swung her metal pipe at Dazzler and Longshot. He   
backed away as fast as he could, with his arm as far around   
Dazzler's waist as was possible. She almost tripped as he led   
her.  
  
 'You'll have to be nimbler than that, little Disco Diva.' hissed   
Jez. 'Perhaps you need your roller skates?'  
   
 'Right, that does it, let's kill her.' muttered Dazzler. Longshot   
gave a sigh, then hurled a handful of throwing blades towards   
Jezebelle's head. They all missed.  
  
 'Nice try, kid.' said Jezebelle. There was a creak. Jezebelle  
looked up in time to see a large lighting fixture falling from  
above. It slammed on top of her, pinning her to the stage.  
  
 'Well, there you are.' said Dazzler. 'In the spotlight, just what   
you wanted.' Longshot began to take her off stage. Jez was   
already lifting herself out from under the light with a grunt.  
   
 'She just won't stay down.' complained Cannonball. Longshot   
and Dazzler began to run to the wings as Jezebelle climbed to   
her feet. Cannonball flew to intercept her as she sprinted after   
the couple. She saw Sam coming and twisted in time to slam   
him in the face with her fist. It didn't hurt him, but it sent him   
off in the direction he had just come from. Then Jezebelle   
grabbed Dazzler by the shoulder, spun her around and   
prepared to knock her head off.  
  
 'Stop!' bellowed a voice.  
  
 Jezebelle turned to face where Cyclops was standing, beside a   
smoking television camera. Between her and him was a large,   
empty expanse of stadium.  
   
 'What's it all for, Jezebelle?' he asked. 'What good will it do   
you to kill anyone now? What use is a spectacle when there's   
no-one to see it?'  
  
 Dazzler, paralysed by imminent death, started hyper-  
ventilating. Longshot dared not move in case Jezebelle saw it   
as a threat.  
  
 Jezebelle stared around the StormDome. Every camera was   
destroyed, what remained of the audience was halfway   
through the door. No-one was watching.  
  
 'They've gone!' gasped Jezebelle, aghast. 'And... you... no!   
No! You destroyed all the cameras! Why did you do that?!'  
  
 'So that you knew for certain that no-one was watching.'   
replied Scott. '   
  
 'No!' muttered Jezebelle again. 'This was my big break. This   
was my chance at fame. This was my big close-up! I could've   
been somebody! I could've been a contender!'  
  
 Storm descended between Alison and Jezebelle's poised fist.   
'Take her, Longshot.' ordered Storm. 'If she wants to kill, then   
let her kill me.'  
  
 Jezebelle stared at the wind-rider. Her eyes were beginning to   
water. She was too astonished, too lost, to say anything. She   
lowered her fist, and began to cry.  
  
 'You were going to kill a pregnant woman?' hissed Storm.   
'Have you no soul?' Jezebelle looked back up at Storm. They   
made eye contact. Storm found herself staring deep into two   
dark, empty eyes, the faintest pin pricks of red at their core.   
'Oh dear goddess!' she gasped. 'It can't be!'  
  
 'You've taken away my audience.' screamed Jezebelle,   
suddenly hysterical. 'You've taken away the only thing that   
matters to me. I should kill each one of you!'  
  
 'But you won't.' soothed Storm. 'That proves something. You   
still have time to repent.'  
  
 'You don't get it.' said Jezebelle. 'I'm not sparing you out of  
compassion. I'm just saving you for later.' She raised herself  
into the sky. 'I *will* kill you.' she screamed. 'I'll kill all of   
you.   
But not today. Not when there's no-one to see you die. You   
wait, I'll be back. There *will* be a sequel!' And then she shot   
off into the sky and disappeared out of sight.  
  
 'Shall I go after her?' asked Cannonball.  
   
 'No, Sam. You can't catch her.' said Cyclops.  
  
 'Uh... guys.' said Longshot, emerging from backstage. 'Ali's  
having a baby.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Betsy and Bishop silently stalked into the mansion. It was   
about 4am. They could hear noises coming from the kitchen.   
They went to see who it was. As they opened the door they   
found a woman they didn't recognise being force-fed coffee by   
Beast.  
   
 'Ow!' yelled Alice, pushing the mug away. 'I've had enough,   
Hank, I can't drink anymore.'  
  
 'I need you absolutely sober for this, Alice.' said Hank. He  
noticed the new arrivals. 'Oh, good morning.' he grinned.  
'You're back then?'  
  
 'Warren sent us away.' said Betsy, evidently not too happy  
about it. 'Charlotte's son has been abducted. He's staying with   
her tonight until they can go searching in the morning.'  
  
 'Oh my! Have they informed the police?' asked Beast.  
  
 'Of course they've informed the police. A counsellor came   
'round and Charlotte's superior said there's nothing they can do   
until morning.' said Betsy.  
  
 'We could go looking.' argued Bishop. 'I'm a trained officer of   
the law.'  
  
 'We can join them tomorrow.' said Betsy, adding to herself   
<If I can be bothered.> She had been cultivating a grudge all   
the way back to the mansion. Warren had shoved her out of   
the apartment, insisting that it would be best if he and   
Charlotte were alone. <Why?> she asked herself. <I could   
have helped. Why must he keep me on the outside like this?   
Well, looks like he won't be coming  with me to visit Brian   
tomorrow. But if he expects me to stay here waiting for him,   
he can think again. I have my own life to  
lead too.>  
  
 Beast went to pour more coffee. 'I think we rather have need   
of your services here tonight.' he claimed. 'I'm afraid Gambit   
has run away.'  
  
 'He can handle himself.' claimed Bishop.  
  
 'Well, the security cameras showed otherwise. I'm afraid to   
say he's probably drunker than even Alice here...'  
  
 'I'm *fine*.' argued Alice.  
  
 '...And in his current state I can't imagine what he might do   
with Sabretooth.' finished Beast.  
  
 Betsy and Bishop stared at him querulously for a moment,   
before realisation dawned. 'Oh no!' said Betsy.  
  
 'Oh yes!' replied Beast. Alice burped. 'More coffee.'  
  
 'I'm FINE!' yelled Alice indignantly.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 A simple clearing among the trees, probably a good few miles   
clear of Westchester. Gambit had left the car at the roadside   
and dragged the shackled Sabretooth out into the woods. He   
sat opposite the lobotomised psychopath, staring at the   
confusion and bewilderment on his face, and lit up a cigarette.   
  
 'S'cold, no?' said Gambit. 'I could light a fire, but I don't want   
anyone findin' us out here.' Sabretooth could say nothing, his   
mouth was bound as well as his arms and legs. Even if he   
could speak, he wouldn't. Wolverine had seen to that.   
Sabretooth didn't even seem to be paying attention to the   
Cajun. He was more interested in the sounds of the woods, the   
movements in the shadows, the faint traces of golden light   
from the approaching sunrise. 'Only a matter  
of time before the X-Men... the *other* X-Men find me, but I   
have to be sure I know what I'm gon'do before I do it.' Gambit   
explained.  
  
 He rose to his feet and inhaled deeply from the tobacco, then   
exhaled the smoke in two dagger jets from his nostrils. He   
reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cards.   
  
 'Well, dere's a t'ing.' he smiled. 'Wrong pack. I keep these for   
best. They throw smoother.' The pack in his hands was larger,   
longer than the average pack of cards, and decorated in   
French-Celtic knots. Woven into the knots was the one word;   
'Tarot'. Gambit slid the cards free of the box and thumbed   
through them for a second. 'Dere she is. The Queen of Cups.   
An she went and left me.' He charged the card up, and   
dropped it. It didn't so much explode as just combust. A   
whimper, not a bang. 'The Queen of Cups rules the emotions,   
Creed. And she controlled mine better than she ever could her   
own. But you went an' wrecked dat for me, din't you? She   
ain't never gonna trust me again.' He began to thumb through   
the cards again, searching out another. 'O' course, you didn't   
tell her the whole story, eh? But you set the doubt in her mind.   
An' she ran.'  
  
 He came across "The Lovers".   
  
 'Oh, dat's cruel.' he hissed. 'Real cruel, Remy.' He charged   
that card too, and flung it as far as he could. It hit a tree and  
flared. The next card he picked out was the Queen of Swords.   
'Ah, here's de other one. She went inside o' my mind to look   
for the truth, and I ain't sure what she found.' He dropped the   
card out of the pack, letting it fall to the damp carpet of leaves   
below. 'Y'see, Creed, it ain't been goin' too well for me of late.   
You, Rogue, Psylocke. How many people lookin' to blow the   
game, eh?'  
  
 Sabretooth looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.  
  
 'Well, I ain't takin' a risk.' muttered Gambit. 'I ain't lettin'  
you get your mind back, I ain't lettin' your healin' factor  
do its' trick.' Gambit frustratedly threw a handful of cards  
into Sabretooth's face, making him flinch away. The cards   
settled. The High Priestess. The Empress. The Magician.  
 'Oh, but it goes beyond the benefactress and the bride.'   
said Gambit, scanning over the cards. 'I can lay the blame on   
them, but it goes further than that.' One card had rested on   
Sabretooth's shoulders. A movement and it fell, flipping over   
and over in the air until it landed. Death.  
  
 Gambit stared at the card. 'That must be you.' he decided,  
reaching for his staff. 'I know what card is mine.' With   
the dexterity of a card sharp he performed a one-hand cut,  
revealing "The Hanged Man". 'Yeah, dat's the one.' he   
muttered.  
  
 He dropped the cards, tumbling them from his hand, then  
raised the staff and swung it with both hands, smacking  
the metal mask from Sabretooth's face. Creed reeled from   
the blow and fell onto his side. His mouth now exposed,  
Gambit stuck the end of his staff into Creed's throat,   
forcing it down. Creed was gagging, though it almost sounded   
like strained laughter. Gambit closed his eyes  
and began to charge up the staff with energy. It glowed   
from tip to tip, lighting the inside of Creed's fanged mouth.   
'Bang.' whispered Gambit. 'You're dead.'  
  
 But nothing happened. Gambit opened his eyes. The staff  
had stopped glowing. He stood for a moment, just staring  
at Sabretooth, then the staff, then at his own hands. Then  
he heard the sound of a footstep on grass behind him. He  
didn't turn around.   
  
 'Did I do that or did you?' he asked.  
  
 'Stop you killing Creed? Well, it was one of us.' replied  
a calm, balanced voice. 'Believe what you will.'  
  
 Gambit turned to face the pale face of the man known  
to most as Sinister. Sinister had one of the cards poised in  
his hand. 'Guess.' said Sinister with the slightest smile.  
  
 'I don't need to guess.' said Gambit.  
  
 'Oh? You know me that well?' asked Sinister.  
  
 'No, that card is marked.' said Gambit. 'It's the Devil.'  
  
 'Correct.' said Sinister. 'I didn't see the mark, though. So   
few people do, I suppose.'  
   
 'What are you doing here?' asked Gambit. 'I was hoping it   
would be a long time before I saw your face again.'  
  
 'Oh? But Seattle was such a charming reunion.' said Sinister.   
'No, LeBeau, I haven't come for you. Not yet. But that time   
will come. You have a debt. All debts must be paid in full.' he   
explained. 'And I should know.' The card in his hand burst into   
flames. 'We all face the devil at some point in our lives, and to   
some of us he makes an offer. You'd be surprised how many   
accept.' He paused in   
contemplation. 'Then again, I suppose you wouldn't.'  
  
 'There's always time to repent.' claimed Gambit.  
   
 'Never.' snapped Sinister. 'There's never enough time to   
repent. You think I don't know that by now? You think I didn't   
try? When you give your soul, you give your life, and there is   
no way back, no way to make amends. You *cannot* repent,   
no matter how long you have.' he insisted. 'Even if you have   
forever.'   
  
 Gambit took another drag from the cigarette before dropping   
it and stamping it out. 'Perhaps,' he suggested 'You didn't try   
hard enough.'  
  
 Sinister smiled. 'Believe what you will.' he replied. 'The day   
draws nearer, LeBeau, and the nights get darker. Colder. More   
lonely. Scream all you want, but the horses of midnight run   
ever onwards. They stop not for you or for any man. The   
damned have their path to follow. I am on it. I'm sure I will see   
you at the next junction.'  
  
 Gambit turned away. 'So why *are* you here?' he asked.  
  
 Sinister put a hand on Gambit's shoulder. 'To take back one   
of my runaway children.' he replied. Then he slammed his   
hand into Gambit's face. The Cajun blacked out.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Jezebelle sat in her room at her dressing table, the dressing   
table with the mirror framed in lights, and wept into her hands.   
She looked up at her own reflection and caught sight of Spiral   
stood behind her. 'Leave me alone.' she cried.  
  
 'You failed, Jezebelle.' said Spiral.  
  
 'I can try again.' said Jezebelle. 'I can succeed.'  
  
 'No. You won't get a second chance.' said Spiral. 'It's too late.'  
  
 Jezebelle stared at the reflection. She turned around to face   
into the room. Spiral wasn't there. 'Where are you?' she   
screamed.  
  
 'You have to pay the price now Jezebelle. You have to   
surrender to me. We all face the devil at some point in our   
lives, and to some of us he makes an offer. You accepted. So   
did I. My devil is dead, but I survived. And thus, your devil is   
still very much alive.' said the voice of Spiral. Jezebelle tried to   
get to her feet and run to the door, but a hand reached out   
from the mirror behind her and held her in place. She   
screamed as another hand took her, then another, another,   
another, another. The lightbulbs  
began to explode around her head as she was dragged towards   
the mirror, into the mirror, through the mirror. Then the last   
bulb was gone, and it was darkness.  
  
 And silence.  
  
 And then Cannonball kicked the door down. He raced into   
the room, MojoII and a small consignment of the Mojo-world   
police behind him. 'She's not here.' said Mojo. 'I knew it.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Ororo Monroe; mutant, X-Man, wind-rider, goddess and   
aunt. Well, not technically, but if the X-Men were her family,   
then this was her niece she held in her arms. A girl. Longshot   
had so hoped for a boy, but he seemed as much in love with   
this daughter as he could be. Dazzler was resting now, and   
Longshot was with her, so Storm decided it was her chance to   
have some time with the beautiful child.  
  
 'Marilyn.' she smiled. 'I cannot believe they called you   
Marilyn.' She looked up and realised she had walked as far as   
the damaged stage of the StormDome. She stepped up to the   
edge, and looked out at the stadium, far less threatening now it   
was empty. 'Magnificent,' she declared, and her voice carried   
off into the arena. She listened as it echoed off the walls.  
   
 'Do you see what your father and mother have achieved,   
Marilyn?' asked Storm. 'This stadium may bear my name, but   
it is a testament to them. Mojoworld was for too long under   
the control of an evil tyrant, but today the people have   
freedom, and they may come and witness that freedom here,   
where they know that the artists they see will be there of their   
own volition. And they may sing what songs they please. It is   
this fight, the noble fight, the fight for the freedom of all   
people, all races, all creeds, all abilities and all lifestyles to be   
  
able to live their lives without  
hindrance or prejudice or exploitation or hate, that the X-Men   
have dedicated their life to. It is a cause that we will never   
surrender. It is a dream shown to be possible by what has been   
achieved here in Mojoworld. It is a fight we will carry on well   
beyond this day, no matter who may oppose us. Remember   
this, child, when you are grown, for it is through you and the   
generations beyond that the fight will always be maintained,   
and though there may be peace here today, always look   
towards what may come tomorrow.' Storm craned her neck   
down and kissed the sleeping infant gently on the forehead.  
  
 Then the sound of one man's applause filled the stadium.  
Cyclops stepped out of the shadows. 'You see, Storm?   
That's the speech you were meant to give.'  
  
 'Thank you, Scott, it is kind of you to say so.' replied Ororo.   
'But I must say I am relieved that I never had to give that   
speech.'  
   
 'Unless they reschedule the concert. The show must go on.'  
said Cyclops.  
  
 'Then it can go on without me.' smiled Storm.  
  
 - - - -  
  
  Archangel stood at the window staring out at the rising sun,   
Charlotte asleep on the sofa behind him, her hand resting by   
the telephone. Today he had to catch a killer. What he would   
do when he caught him, he did not know.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 "Fair nature's eye, rise, rise again and make perpetual day:   
  Or let this hour be but a year, a month, a week, a natural day,  
   That Faustus may repent and save his soul.  
   O lente, lente currite noctis equi!  
   The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,  
   The devil will come and Faustus must be damned."  
   
       - Faustus, Act V, Scene II, The Tragical History of the   
   Life and Death of Doctor Faustus, by Christopher Marlowe.  
  
  _____________________________________  
  NEXT ISSUE: Warren and Charlotte go in   
  search of Timmy, and Gambit faces the  
  awesome wrath of Henry McCoy.   
  _____________________________________    
 


	9. X-Men #46: Shadowlands Arc

X-men 46 - Ambush  
by CJA Delaney   
  
Prologue  
  
    In the vast void of the astral plane a small shadow finally   
began to grow once again.  Battered and hurt the Shadow King still   
managed to cling to existence by the thinnest of threads, the   
slenderest of cords.  Hate sustained him , hate of Xavier and all the   
children of the atom who had denied him his well earned revenge.    
He had waited a lifetime to destroy Xavier and now all his plans   
were ashes.  
  
    He had survived "death" before, first when Charles Xavier had   
fought him in a Cairo Cafe and later when he had been driven forth   
from the mutant Karma.  But never had he been hurt so badly as this.    
He had been so close to defeating his most loathed enemy.  Weak as he  
was it seemed an impossibility he would survive this defeat, for even an   
astral entity needed to feed and isolated from reality he was cut off from   
what feed him best, the dark emotions of the human soul.  
  
    He needed a new host, a new way to inflict misery on a world   
filled with hatred and strife.  But he had so little strength, he would   
need a psionically aware host and yet one that could not fight back   
or even better that would welcome him.  A shelter against the endless   
night that awaited him.  
  
    And then, when all hope seemed exhausted and all avenues seemed   
ended one became available.  Fleeing from a shattered dream in space   
was the mindless body of one of the greatest mutants.  The irony was   
delicious, Xavier had torn this ones mind out to prevent a war between humans   
and mutants.  How fitting that the benevolent tyrant be replaced by the   
utter despot.  Xavier's actions would rebound on him and bring ruin to his   
futile dream!  
  
    Quietly, gently the Shadow King slipped into the mind of his   
new host.  He could feel the mind of this man buried deeply, the   
pride, the power, the pain, the passion and a will second to none!  He had   
defied him once and alone had managed to drive him off.  Now he was a   
slave.  The Shadow King exercised his new mutant power carefully, to   
use a large amount of psionic or magnetic power would be to risk   
awakening his host and he could drive him out if that happened.  Very well,   
subtlety would replace the sledgehammer of raw power, the name of Magneto   
would draw many to a hopeless crusade.  And when t he pain and death   
had given him the power he would merely move on to a new host when they   
tore this one apart.  
  
    In the endless antarctic night, beside an unconscious Colossus,   
Magneto laughed a cold, mocking laugh that seemed to echo forever   
across the frigid wasteland.  
  
  
Main  
  
    Xavier was tired.  Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes   
and clouding his vision.  With a vast mental effort he fought off waves   
of fatigue.  It had been eighteen hours since he had begun scanning   
for his oldest adversary... and his dearest friend.  
  
    The amount of psionic static in the antarctic region was simply   
phenomenal, rarely had he encountered such resistance to his   
amplified mental probes.  For all this effort he had little to show for his   
time, Cerebro had picked up traces of Magneto but he couldn't pinpoint   
them. The image of a dying and defenceless Magnus urged him on to greater   
efforts, he well remembered how Magnus had come to his aid when he   
was dying in the snow after Siena Blaze's attack on the leaders of the   
X-Men.  He would not leave him out there if he had a choice.  
  
    "Guilt, Xavier?  Regret?  Isn't it a little late for these   
feelings, you did tear my mind out after all.  All that is left to die   
is an empty husk , not a man at all but a mere shell" the astral image   
of Magneto remarked.    
  
    "Still my conscience Magnus.  Even when I kill you I am forced to   
deal with you" Xavier remarked to the phantom in his mind.  As a   
curious side effect of the mind-wipe he did on Magneto he was haunted by   
images of  the man.  A psychosis he freely admitted but had neither the time   
nor inclination to inquire into.  
  
    "Perhaps we are bound together by tighter reins than you   
realise.  There at the beginning there were only the two of us, you   
who hoped for the best and I who prepared for the worst.  Look at us now,   
you an impotent cripple trying to believe your dream hasn't been   
hopelessly tainted by compromise and I merely the memory of a dead man.  Our   
marvellous mutant powers seem to have done little good.  For all our   
skill and dedication at the end we are undone.  Is there really any   
difference between us any longer?"  
  
    "There is a difference Magnus, though you may choose to hide it   
however you wish," Xavier stormed.  "My dream is a principle, a goal   
to be obtained, yours was a mad vision of power..."  
  
    "Power to keep my people safe..."  
  
    "Power to make yourself a king among men.  How many lives   
have you taken?  How could any dream based on the blood of so many be   
pure?"  
  
    "I see a lot of blood on your hands as well, my own for example.    
It is too late to deny it, the coming of Cable was a change in the   
philosophy of the X-Men , for he took the future into his guardianship.    
Look at the newest X-Men, Cannonball whom he trained to be a warrior   
and Bishop, a soldier.  They are no longer young people seeking to bring   
peace, they are warriors of the atom whom I was proud to fight   
beside.  Some still cling to the dream but for how long?  How long till they   
can go on no further?"  
  
    "As long as they have to!"   
  
    "Let the dream die Xavier..."  
  
    "And give you the ultimate victory!" Xavier shouted, lurching   
forward in his chair."After all the prices we have paid, all the   
struggle.  No, until my dying day I will resist that path! I will..."  
  
    The doors of the ready room burst open as Bishop jumped in , gun   
drawn and eyes alert.  "Professor?  I heard shouting.  Is something   
the matter?"  
  
    "Just old ghosts my friend, old ghosts that never seem to lie in   
peace.  Go on I will be fine here."  Bishop shot a worried glance   
around the room but he was already relaxing.  Without another word he turned   
and exited.  
  
    Settling back into his chair Xavier forced himself to relax.  One   
day soon he would deal with this problem, just as soon he finished   
the urgent business he was about.    
  
    It was obvious that nothing more could be learned from here in   
his command chair.  He would have to go south in the blackbird and   
scan from a much closer range.  As he let his mind wander he noticed on   
the close range scan being done by Cerebro that Jean and Logan were at   
the nearby airport.  Perfect!  Focusing his powers he sent a telepathic   
probe forth.  
  
    "Jean, Logan!  Can I call upon you for some assistance?"  
  
    "I have business elsewhere, bub. I ain't in a mood to be no flaming   
errand boy." Wolverine snarled.  
  
    "I understand but it won't be long.  We can drop you off where   
ever you are going afterwards." Xavier said.  
  
    "Take the others.  I have other engagements, far more pressing than   
whatever side-show you have planned!"    
  
    "They are unavailable at this time , something about a field   
trip... I have nobody else I can count on.  You are an X-Man   
Wolverine, much as you have forgotten it of late"  
  
    "I've forgotten nothin'.  So many strings of duty and obligation ,   
sometimes it feels like they're tearin' me apart..."  
  
    "Get ahold of yourself Wolverine.  I need your enhanced senses   
and I dare not take Sabertooth as a replacement."  
  
    "That Psycho!  You'd be lucky to end up merely dead.  OK, I'll   
come, let's get it over with Chuck.  Just what are we up to?  
  
    "It involves Magneto.  I want to relocate him and return him to the   
mansion.  It is too dangerous having him on the loose."  
  
    "Ol' bucket head, eh?  And if he resists?"  
  
    "Then we will restrain him.  By any means necessary."  
  
    "Music to my ears bub, music to my ears.  I do hope he resists, I   
owe ol' buckethead a fistful of claw and I always give better than I get."  
  
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,  
  
    Logan looked bored and listless as the Blackbird continued to   
circle over the arctic wasteland.  Jean was focused on the controls   
as she attempted to navigate clouds of psionic static.  Xavier was focused,   
the helmet of the mini-cerebro glinted in the cabin light and gave him   
the uncharacteristic appearance of a knight in a helmet.  His eyes   
constantly flitted from dial to dial while his whole face was contorted with   
effort as he attempted to unscramble a weak signal.  He was unable to shake   
the feeling that there was something out there in the darkness, something   
waiting.  As he glanced around the cabin he realised suddenly that   
Logan was growling softly , as if his animal senses were somehow telling   
him something was wrong.  Perhaps, he should have brought more of the   
X-Men with him...  
  
    "Professor," Jean said breaking his reverie, "the computer has   
confirmed what I suspected.  This static isn't natural and it isn't being   
caused on the psionic plane.  It is magnetic in origin!"  
  
    "That tears it, ol' buckethead was just shamming.  He's out there   
somewhere waiting for us.  I can feel it.  See if you can locate him   
Chuck, I am afraid we're about to ruin his whole day."  
  
    "Professor, we need to go back and bring a full team before   
proceeding with this mission.  A helpless Magneto is one thing but a   
full strength one..."  Jean said.  
  
    "Will die as easily as any other man if he doesn't see it comin',"   
Wolverine snarled.  
  
    "Enough Wolverine.  You may be right Jean and yet..."  
  
    The professor was cut off by a loud explosion at the back of the   
blackbird.  Instantly the cabin was filled with blinding black smoke.  
  
    "The engines have been hit," Jean cried. "Brace yourselves, we're   
going down."  
  
    Wolverine bounded to the co-pilots position and frantically tried   
to restart the engine while Xavier had his attention suddenly distracted   
by a familiar reading on the mini-cerebro as it scanned wildly about,   
it looked for a second like Rogue, but that just couldn't be the case   
now could it?  As he pushed his mind forth he felt an oppressive   
blackness on the astral plane, fear flooded through him as the once pure   
plane felt like a place of horrors.    
  
    He was jolted back to reality as the blackbird suddenly made a   
controlled crash landing in the antarctic snow.  
  
    "Can you tell what hit us Jean?" Xavier inquired as the cabin   
finally began to clear of smoke.  
  
    "We were hit by a bolt of magnetic force of some kind, tore the   
engine apart.  We're on fire, we will have to abandon this craft."   
Jean replied.  
  
    "He's out there then," Wolverine growled. "He isn't getting the ol'   
canucklehead without a fight".  
  
    "Wait Wolverine, I sense a presence out there but it isn't   
Magneto..." Xavier began as a scaly green arm smashed through the   
windshield and grabbed Phoenix by the throat.  She let out an unholy   
scream of terror and agony as she was brutally torn from the plane.  
  
    "God God, that thing is eating her life-force!  I can feel her   
pain..." Xavier sobbed.  
  
    SNICKT!  
      
    "Bad Mistake bub," snarled Wolverine as he bounded out into the   
antarctic snow to face...  SAURON!  "I heard you was a vegetable, too   
flamin' bad ya didn't stay that way... for you!"  Wolverine growled as   
he drove bone claws into Sauron's abdomen.  His heightened senses   
could tell him Jean was almost dead, and the thought drove him wild.    
He swung again but Sauron threw Phoenix aside and grabbed his arm.    
Wolverine let forth a howl of agony as Sauron shattered it.  
  
    Meanwhile Xavier desperately tried to bring his massive psionic   
power to bear.  But pain, fear and fatigue prevented him from hammering   
through the weak shields surrounding Saurons mind.  Why isn't he using   
his hypnotic power?  What would drive him out into the snow this way?  
  
    Sauron grabbed Wolverine and savagely broke the mutants spine   
across his knee.  Not one to go down quietly, Wolverine went for the   
eyes and tore the left one out.  The battle had lasted for mere seconds   
and already it was over.  Sauron reached forth with his life-force   
draining power and drank deep.  Then he tossed the mutant aside.  Blood   
streamed down the side of his face from Wolverines claw.  He was mad and in   
pain from his wounds and the harsh arctic cold.  And there were two more   
life forms to kill.  
  
    Then a voice in his mind brought him instantly to heel.    
"WOLVERINE IS FINISHED.  LEAVE XAVIER TO BURN.  BRING   
GREY TO ME."  The reptilian form of Sauron grabbed the helpless and   
almost dead Jean Summers and began to fly, back to the Savage Land.  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
    The mutant stumbled through the cold bearing an unconscious   
burden.  In the distance he could make out the Savage Land, shelter   
and warmth against the unforgiving antarctic cold.  A lesser man would   
have given up but still he strode forward.  All his problems and concerns   
sublimated into one train of thought , a thought that sustained him   
through his long march.  
  
    Seems that Magneto ain't aware that my healin' factor has been   
massively enhanced, neither did I until I was hit by that car, and   
counted me out too soon.  His mistake and it's goin' to be his last.  I will   
finish this one in blood!    
  
\------  
To be continued in Wolverine 96 (where all of the predictions you   
read in that issues spoiler will happen, just differently than you might   
expect).  
Be here for X-Men 48 to learn the fate of Jean Summers and the truth   
behind the malevolent attack.  
  



	10. Wolverine #96: Shadowlands Arc

All characters are copyright to Marvel Comics.  
X-Writers is a non-profit group.  
  
Wolverine #96: Adamantium Bound (3 of 7)  
by CJA Delaney  
(This story takes place after X-Men #47)  
  
Prologue  
  
    Logan forced himself to keep walking.  His feet had long since  
gone numb beyond feeling, even with his vaunted healing factor.  Ice  
crystals carpeted his hair and the cold antarctic winter seemed an  
eternity of icy silence.  The only sound was the breaking of snow  
beneath his feet.  He could no longer tell if Xavier was dead, alive or  
somewhere in-between.  He had no idea how long he had been walking,  
how many miles he had come.  All he knew was that only an unholy  
determination for revenge kept him walking despite the agony that  
wracked his small form. He would triumph over all to achieve his goal,  
an isolated habit of eternal summer in this harsh and unforgiving land.  
  
    His mind wandered free.  Perhaps it was his proximity to death,  
perhaps it was a side effect of the psionic boosts Xavier had given  
him earlier before Xavier's strength and will had succumbed to smoke  
inhalation, fatigue and injury.  But for the first time in his adult life  
he could finally distinguish the truth from lies in his own mind.  He  
remembered the encounter with Silver Fox, they had tried to make it  
into a dream, a story that he would reject as false.  But it was his own  
past, the origin of his obsessive hatred of the psychopath  
Sabertooth.  
  
    He remembered the technician that had bonded the adamantium to  
his system, Jamie Munoz.  He remembered two other figures standing  
there as well, one of them he recognises as Lord Deathwind, father of Lady  
Deathstrike.  SO the woman was right after all, I am the result of  
his research.  
  
    No, that is wrong.  I am my own man, my own person.  Damn them  
all that they would seek to impose anything on him.  No matter what  
the cost he would be free of all of this.  To find his own path and  
reject the illusions and falsehoods he had been forced to live with for so  
long.    
  
    The last figure confirmed the last boast he had heard.  Who would  
have believed that Apocalypse had told him the truth, that he had  
been there.  Oh there were others, but there, at the beginning, these  
three took a shattered man and handed him to a sadistic experimenter and  
created a monster.  No, not a monster, a man who would overcome all  
that they had done to him to find his own way, his own path, his own type  
of honour.    
  
    Logan collapsed.  It was over.  He could see the dome encasing  
the Savage land no more than 100 meters in front of him.  But he just  
couldn't walk any further.  He had spent the last of his reserves, he  
had no margins left.  As his vision faded he didn't see the dark figures  
approach him out of the snow.  
  
  
Main  
  
    Logan awoke with a start.  He was wracked with pain from head to  
foot, the last residues of severe frostbite.  He was in a hut of all  
things.  The air was warm and he could hear the laughter of children  
and the sounds of a village at work and play.  But his hearing picked up  
grim undertones, these people were scared of something, deeply  
scared.    
  
    He could hear somebody approaching the hut.  He struggled to his  
feet but realised he was pushing himself too quickly.  Damn it anyway,  
he had to push or there would be nothing left.  Chuck was gone and he  
would have to find whomever had taken him, and make them pay.    
  
    His jaw dropped with utter shock as the entrance of the hut  
opened and Rogue stepped.    
  
    "Long way from home Sugah.  What brings you to these parts in  
these circumstances"  Rogue asked.  
  
\------------  
Spain -  
  
    Cyber was hunting.  An enemy he loathed and hated, Wolverine!    
It was a battle that had to happen and would. The little runt was weak  
without his adamantium and Cyber would destroy him, one way or the  
other.    
  
    Suddenly Cyber found himself being surrounded by a glow.  He  
cursed and struggled but he could not free himself.  He was no longer  
in Spain but in a dark chamber being held by metallic restraints  
(author's note: this neat effect was last seen in Classic X-men 25).    
  
    "Cyber, you are one of the strong.  I pit you against your  
greatest foe."  said an ancient and cold voice.  
  
    "That shrimp Logan!  Let me at him"  Cyber cried.  
  
    "I will send you to him but you must do something for me."  
  
    "And if I refuse scumbag?"  
  
    "Then I will kill you.  Your adamantium will not save you from my  
wrath".  
  
    "So there is no choice..."  
  
    "On the contrary, the ultimate choice."  
  
    "So who do you want greased?"  
  
    Cyber saw a picture of a teenage girl with tattoos or paint on  
each cheek, 3 lines of red contrasting with her blonde hair and an old,  
bald man.  "The girl's name is scanner.  The man's name is Charles  
Xavier.  Xavier cannot be permitted to read her mind, there is a  
storm coming that will blast the weak and test the strong.  If Xavier reads  
her mind he will learn of it too soon and might avert it.  This is not  
acceptable.  Kill them both."  
  
    "And the Runt?"  
  
    "Wolverine is in the Savage Land with them in the chief village  
of the united tribes.  Beware, Rogue is there as well"  
  
    "So all I gotta do is sneak past a bunch of spear chuckers!    
Consider them greased."  Cyber grinned a maniacal grin and  
hallucinogenic poison dripped from his claws. "But one question first Mr.  
High-and-Mighty , if you are who I think you are, aren't you feeding  
the fishes already."  
  
    "Evil never dies and the apocalypse always lies over the head of  
mankind.  Go forth Cyber, ignite the torch that will become a blaze  
to burn away the unfit.  Do not fail me, I am not as forgiving as some."  
  
    "And what of Genesis?"  
  
    "He will no longer be a factor for long...."  
  
    Cyber felt a lurch as he vanished only to reappear in the depths  
of a jungle at the bottom of the earth.  He smiled a killing smile.    
It's killing time!  
  
\----------------  
      
    The war council was packed to standing room only.  All the chiefs  
of the United tribes were present as well as many others with things  
to say.  Logan felt a trifle bored as Kazar waxed poetic about unity and  
strength in numbers.  He could smell the fear in the room, nobody was  
fooled.  Magneto had returned, far more vicious than he had ever been.  
He had rallied the Acolytes about him and the Mutates and embarked on  
a campaign of extermination.  These people were all walking corpses  
against that kind of power and they knew it.  
  
    At the corner of the room a slim blonde teenager was trying to be  
inconspicuous.  Scanner of the acolytes had appeared one day with a  
bizarre story about a blackness that had devoured the mind of her  
master.  The girl was simply loopy.  Magneto was simply the villain  
reverted to type preying on those too weak to defend themselves.  
  
    "... and so we shortly expect to have Charles Xavier regain  
consciousness," Kazar intoned. "Many of you may be unaware that he  
possesses formidable psionic powers which he has used to subdue  
Magneto before. With his assistance he can kill the snake by cutting  
the head off..."  
  
    The crowd simply wasn't buying it.  Too many were already dead  
and they had lost too badly already.  Everybody remembered Exodus  
tossing Rogue about like a rag doll.  They simply weren't convinced that  
there was any hope.  But they also knew that the other side never took  
prisoners or accepted defectors.  They struck to cause pain and  
terror as if that were their only goal.  
  
    "Listen up" Logan broke out "I am only going to say this once and  
so listen careful.  Most of you know something of me, the mutant hero  
with claws of metal." SNIKT, Bone claws burst from Wolverine's hands in a  
shower of blood. "Well, I don't have metal in my claws anymore and I  
am in rough shape.  I am running as close to the edge as I ever have.  But  
there is something I have learned, never, ever give up.  You do that  
and you do half the other guy's work for him.  Now the scouting party  
that found me an' Chuck determined there was no practical way to escape.    
So we are going to have to fight.  Get it into your heads that there is no  
choice, for better or worse it has to be done now!  Magneto isn't invincible,  
we X-men have defeated him before and we will again.  The woman I love  
more than anything else in the world is in his hands right now and I don't  
know whether she is alive or dead, and even if she is alive from what  
you've told me she's better off dead.  I know the pain you feel over loved  
ones lost, harness it.  And let's feed Maggie his own guts.  Enough  
of this talking, those who want to fight let's do it.  We already know  
the score, an army of your kinfolk encased in worms slime is camped  
across the river.  Tomorrow they will try to cross.  Let's see if we can't make  
a few of their masters pay for the privilege of crossing.  I am a  
Samurai, I hold to a code of honour that says that it doesn't matter whether you  
win or lose but only how nobly you fight.  If there be gods then let them  
remark on our valour tomorrow.  And if there aren't then at least we  
will give them a fight they'll never forget."  
  
    The tent erupted into cheers.  "Nereel" Wolverine ordered the  
beautiful chieftain. "You said your people have a number of skirmish  
parties across the river, lets go join them."  He could smell the  
difference.  The fear still there but it was mixed with a fierce pride.  
        
\-------------  
  
    Cyber crouched in the bushes.  This was the camp that the old  
fogey had shown him.  This was where the old man, the runt and the  
little girl were.  He smiled, he was going to enjoy this.  
  
\-------------  
  
    Scanner crouched in her tent.  Fear enveloped her, she felt  
helpless in the darkness.  None of them believed her that she had  
felt something wrong with Magneto.  That her fellow acolytes had changed,  
one by one, into cruel caricatures of themselves.  That she had barely  
escaped with her life when the darkness that consumed her god had  
come for her.  She sobbed helplessly, whenever she went into her astral  
form she could feel the darkness out there, throbbing, hungry, wanting her  
soul.  She wondered what had happened to make her life so awful.    
What crime had she committed.  She had been born different, hated and  
feared by whomever she had shown her ability.  The government would have  
caged her like a rat.  But Fabian Cortez had shown her a better way.  But  
then Cortez had betrayed it all in the end as well.  And here she was  
among people who hated her and all she stood for, seeking a respite however  
temporary from the hungry darkness.  
  
    Her pathetic sobs ceased as the door of the hut opened and the  
gross form of Cyber stepped in, his claws dripping blood.  "Time to die  
girlie" he said with a smirk.  Scanners scream echoed in the darkness.  
  
\--------------  
  
    The princess bar was littered with bodies.  All the people in  
Madripoor with connections to the man Patch had been taken and none  
of them had divulged a word despite the most agonising torture Genesis  
could devise.  The one named Jessica Drew had been particularly tough and  
would have defeated the Dark Riders without his intervention.  Still,  
there were fewer friends for Wolverine in this cold, dark world.  
  
    One of the inhabitants still left, a niece of General Coy who had  
shown some telepathic ability.  He had worked longer on her for fear  
she could be using her talents to defeat his mutant power.  But she  
knew nothing.  "Dispose of the wretch" he ordered Foxbat, "we will  
find evidence of Wolverine elsewhere."  Before the mutant could obey a  
form appeared in the room.    
  
    "The mutant named Karma is one of the strong, she shall not be  
killed in this way."  Genesis went white as he seemed to recognise  
the voice for a moment.  Then the room went dark and neither the girl nor  
the form were there.  Genesis felt the slightest trickle of fear.  He  
noticed the dark riders had gone silent with fear as well.  It couldn't be...  
 could it?  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
    Karma awoke and looked around.  She felt a faint residue of  
soreness as she glanced around and a vague memory of having been  
elsewhere.  "Where am I?" She asked several passerbys in several  
languages until a slightly drunk young man said "Why yer in the  
capital of Merry ol' England my girl.  The night is young, wanna party?"  
  
    She dashed down the street.  London?  That was impossible , she  
was supposed to be half a world away.  And she couldn't shake the  
strange feeling that something significant had happened , but no it was just  
an ordinary day working for her uncle and soiling her soul.  England,  
there was nobody in England she could go to for help.  She had no money, no  
passport and no way of obtaining any, she was not going to use her  
power in this base way if she could avoid it.  Wait wasn't there a British  
X-men team, Excelsior or something.  Would they help?  No, not likely.  
  
    Karma walked of into the cold unforgiving night.


	11. X-Men #47: Shadowlands Arc

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  X-Men #47  "The Shadow Rising"  
  by JAC Delaney  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Prologue <United Tribes Camp>  
  
    Cyber bounded across the hut, slashing at Scanner.    
To his immense surprise she managed to block his claws   
with her arms.  Whatever the metal banding on them was,   
it was tough enough to withstand adamantium spikes.  He   
kicked up seeking to knock her against one of the walls of   
the makeshift hut but she dropped down and scooted under   
his raised leg.  Desperately he spun around and managed,   
barely, to slash her back.  "Good moves Babe, better than I   
expected.  But they won't save you."  
  
    Cyber sprang forth from the tent after the   
frightened girl, only to receive a drop kick in the face from   
Scanner.  He sliced at the leg but it was covered with the   
same annoying metal as her arms.  He lunged forward,   
from here he could easily see that her throat was   
completely unprotected.  She blocked his forward lunge   
with crossed arms and then fell backwards, flipping him   
over her.  He landed with a resounding crash.  He was up   
on his feet instantly, she was a lot slower.  The glazing of   
her eyes told the story of the effect of the hallucinogenic   
poison running through her system.  "End of the line,   
Babe.  Fought well for an acolyte but you just don't have   
what it takes to beat me.  Nobody does."    
  
    "Really Sugah.  Ah reckon if'n that is your best ya   
have a long ways to go before you can make that kinda   
boast.  But then ah've seen the best so ah might be just a   
wee bit biased here".  
  
    Cyber spun around.  A magnificent woman stood   
before him, tall and full figured, with a white stripe   
running through her brown hair.  "Think you can do better,   
Chump.  Take your best shot, but make it a good one   
because you won't be getting a second chance, sister"  
  
    "Okay" Rogue replied.    
  
  
Main <Shadow Kings Tent>  
  
    Magneto reclined on soft pillows.  The ease with   
which he rested belied the fierce thinking and action inside   
his mind.  The Shadow King probed forth, seeking,   
looking, finding.  Xavier was still alive, somehow   
Wolverine had recovered from a blow that previously   
would have been mortal in the extreme for him.  What had   
happened?    
  
    His gaze wandered to his captive, Jean Grey was   
stilled covered with smoke and blood from the crash and   
the subsequent encounter with Sauron, a useful if limited   
servant.  She was the first child of Xavier's heart, the   
daughter he had never had.  Inside the form of Magneto,   
Farouk had plans for the young woman.  She would be his   
consort, his Shadow Queen.    
  
  
<Woods outside the Shadow King's Camp>  
  
    Wolverine crouched in the tall grass.  Nereel had   
stopped at the forward pickets but he had gone on.  He had   
caught a whiff of a scent he remembered all too well, that   
of the reptilian creature known as Sauron.  Sauron had   
nearly killed him and had taken Phoenix.  Wolverine held   
back burning anger, he had failed so many people he didn't   
want to fail her as well.  Unfortunately, knowing Sauron   
and the damage he had done to her already, Jean was   
probably already dead.  In that case, Wolverine vowed to   
himself, Sauron was in for a world of hurt.  
  
    He began to circle inwards towards the camp.    
Suddenly a bright flash blinded him for an instant.  When   
it cleared he could see a tall American man dressed in white,   
gold and scarlet.  'Exodus!  What in blazes is Magneto's   
lackey doing here?  We were downed by a bolt of   
magnetic energy, is there a connection between Sauron and   
Magneto?  I wonder what would happen if I followed   
Exodus to his destination?'  Carefully Wolverine marked   
which tent Exodus entered and then began to slowly   
circle inwards.  The slime coating most of the inhabitants   
of the camp inhibited their ability to watch, especially against   
someone of his talents,  An oversight he would make them   
pay for.  In blood.  
  
  
<Astral Plane>  
  
    Jean awoke to the empty void of astral space.  It   
had changed recently or was it only here?  It was dark and   
lifeless, a hollow void that sought to suck forth the very   
soul from the traveller.  What had happened in the interim?    
Had she died only to have her mind survive here?  She   
sought to return to her body.  She could feel it, but a   
psionic barrier separated her from it.    
  
    "Naughty, naughty little Jeanie" the Shadow King   
taunted. "You are in my realm now, did you think I would   
let you leave so quickly.  At least say hello to an old friend"    
The dark folds of the Shadow Kings hideous form parted   
to show Jean an image of the X-men's oldest foe, Magneto.    
Tarnished silver like the man himself, yet there were   
scratches that showed pure silver, noble deeds that held his   
corruption at bay.  "What do you think of my newest   
plaything, little Jeanie" the Shadow King mocked.  
  
    "You may have Magneto captive but how long will   
you hold him, especially after I do... THIS!"  Jean fired a   
blast of psionic energy at the form of Magneto as it   
vanished into the folds of the Shadow King's form.  The   
bolt rocked him, for a few second he wavered in and out of   
existence as if fighting something that sought to eradicate   
the core of his being.  Jean prepared a second blast but   
hesitated, she wasn't sure she wanted to kill someone, even   
one as evil as the Shadow King.  There might be a better   
way.  Besides, killing him would probably finish Magneto   
as well and that would be murder, pure and simple.    
  
    Suddenly pain enveloped her.  Dark tendrils   
spouted forth from the Shadow King coating her in slimy   
darkness.  "Glad to see you didn't have the guts to finish   
me.  I, as you can see, have no such compunctions".  Jean   
felt herself being consumed by blackness, and even worse   
she was beginning to enjoy the darkness and the filth.  She   
focused all of her formidable might on breaking free of his   
bonds.  Not even Xavier was his match on the astral plane   
and she was losing even the inclination to resist.  With a   
burst of pain she tore free and returned to her body.  
  
  
<United Tribes Camp>  
  
    Scanner lay helpless on the ground.  The drugs   
coursing through her system left her weak and helpless.    
Being small and thin and blonde might make one attractive   
but the lack of body mass left her excessively vulnerable to   
Cyber's poison.  The young Scottish girl let her mind stray   
to her upbringing and wondered at a life that had lead her   
to this point.  Rejected by her parents when her mutant   
abilities appeared she had found herself in a strange and   
hostile world.  Not a powerful mutant she had cursed and   
hated her abilities, the metal bands on her arms and   
legs were not merely cosmetic or just for fighting after all.    
But then Cortez had come and given her hope in a man   
who had a dream, a dream in which little people like   
herself would be safe from a world that hated and despised   
her.  So Marie had followed Cortez and then Magneto   
when it was shown that Cortez had been a lying bastard.    
But then that jerk Xavier had come and torn Magneto's   
mind out.  It had all fallen apart after that.  Exodus had   
gone slowly mad and then Holocaust had come.  The   
dream of a haven for all had vanished in a battle between   
two men who wanted to be gods.  She had hoped to find   
some solace while in the arms of Scott Summers, but he   
had betrayed her, all of them, when he turned them over to   
the US government.  Then Magneto had come back and   
everything seemed to have become alright again.  Only it   
wasn't, there was a darkness in Magneto that reached forth   
and consumed her fellow acolytes.  A native of the Astral   
plane she could see it and the vast, bloated bulk of evil   
behind it.  So she fled. The tribes had wanted to kill her,   
she was an acolyte after all.  But Rogue had convinced   
them all otherwise.  And now Rogue was fighting to save   
her life.   
  
    Scanner raised her head to observe the battle.  This   
was a bad mistake, it told the surrounding tribes-people   
she was still alive.  One of them savagely drove a spear   
into her back.  She gasped as the spear pierced her and   
began to slowly cry.  She was gagging blood, with this   
level of technology that meant she was finished.  Her   
heroine was losing against Cyber, her hero had betrayed   
her, her God was possessed by a Demon and she was   
dying like an animal in the midst of those who hated her,   
how could things get any worse?     
  
    Somewhere, far away in the darkness of the astral   
plane, she could hear the distant sound of laughter.  
  
  
<Shadow Kings Tent>  
  
    Jean raised her head and glanced around.  She was   
bound and helpless before a makeshift throne.  On the   
throne Magneto sat, his ice blue eyes piercing her to the   
core.  As she looked at them she could see a savage   
madness in them.  
  
    "So you're still the tigress I see" laughed Magneto.    
"Poor little Jeanie, don't you know you have already lost.    
Your little tussle with Sauron seems to have drained your   
abilities to the point where you have no more hope against   
me than a human."  
  
    "I kicked you out of my mind once, try it again and   
we will see what happens."  Jean grimaced. "I know you   
aren't what you pretend to be, that the form you wear is   
only a mask..."  
  
    "Too late little X-Man" Magneto mocked, his voice   
like granite being ground. "I have already corrupted you   
deeply.  Ask yourself if the idea of being my slave is still   
so abhorrent."  
  
    Jean suddenly realised the idea was attractive,   
desirable, proper, it was something she wanted.  "NO" she   
screamed "I will resist you till the end of time but you WILL   
NOT HAVE ME!"  Desperately Jean mind blasted him as   
hard as she could.  The result was feeble, almost pitiful.  
  
    "Dear Jeanie," Magneto mocked. "Did I neglect to   
tell you that you are almost powerless as a result of   
Sauron's feeding.  Your power will return, but by then you   
will be mine!"  Jean screamed as the Shadow King's   
psionic probes bored into her skull.  
  
    Wolverine heard the screams and turned from   
following Exodus, charging towards the tent were it was   
all occurring.  He burst into the anteroom to behold Wyrm   
and Sauron.  Wyrm was chuckling to himself.  Several captive   
tribesmen where there, feeding their own children to the   
ravenous Sauron.  Wyrm was so intent on his act of cruelty   
he paid no attention to the intruder.  The parents of the   
children made no move to betray their liberator.  SNIKT.    
The inaction cost Wyrm his life as Wolverine drove his   
claws into Wyrms bloated body.  Sauron turned, his eyes   
filled with an unholy fire.  "You owe me a rematch bub"   
Wolverine growled "it's dying time".  He charged the   
savage reptile, his berserker fury being driven to extreme   
heights by Jeans pathetic screams.  
  
  
<United Tribes Camp>  
  
    Rogue staggered.  Only her Kree physiology   
(inherited from Carol Danvers) and the resistance it gave   
her to Earth based poisons kept her on her feet.  Cyber was   
unable to do more than cosmetic damage with his claws   
but the poison was slowly overwhelming her.  After the first   
blow Cyber had proved difficult to hit and his adamantium   
was beyond her ability to damage.  Every torso blow she   
landed hurt him savagely but she was landing too few.  Out   
of the corner of her eye she could see Scanner.  Some idiot   
had stuck a spear in her.  Couldn't these blockheads ever   
get it through their heads that she wasn't the enemy?  
  
    "Had enough girlie" Cyber taunted.  He continued   
his basic strategy of keeping his arms in front of him,   
loose and limber.  Every time Rogue closed in he used the   
opportunity to slash her while blocking her blows with his   
arms.  Broken ribs ground as he moved and he could tell   
he had a skull fracture from her first hit.  He had to end this   
soon.  
  
    "Ah'm afraid ah'm going t' have to give you one   
last chance t' say uncle scuzball... or ah'll do something we'll   
both regret."  Rogue sputtered.   
  
    "Go to hell" Cyber roared and charged her.  She hit   
him with all of her drug induced strength, he blocked but   
the blow was crippling.  He felt his left arm literally tear   
free of his body from the force of her blow.  He collapsed   
in pain and shock.  As Rogue walked away from him and   
towards the young woman he had tried to kill, a circle of   
tribes-people closed around him.  They had had too much   
of murderers lately and their tolerance level was   
vanishingly low.  
  
    Rogue stood over the prone form of Scanner.  She   
wrenched the spear loose and picked up the desperately   
wounded young woman.  "Ah'm afraid there ain't much   
that can be done Scanner" she forced herself to say.    
  
          "That's okay Scanner replied, it is enough that you   
care..." as she drifted into unconsciousness from pain,   
shock, drugs and blood loss.  Rogue made it all the way to   
the Shaman's tent before collapsing.  
  
  
<Antechamber to the Shadow King's Tent>  
  
    Wolverine stepped over the prone form of Sauron.    
The locals must be used to screams and strange sounds   
coming from the tent.  Suited him just fine.  Magneto   
would have to face him alone.  He strode forth into the   
main chamber.  
  
    Magneto stood with Jean at his feet.  She was no   
longer screaming but seemed to be smiling instead, a wild   
smile unlike any he had ever seen on her before.  "Wolvie,   
what a delightful surprise" she exclaimed, a sick look of   
pleasure passing over her face.  All of Woverines' senses   
told him something was wrong.  Magneto turned to face   
him and Wolverine could see a dark madness in his eyes.    
He reacted faster than he had any right to, his claws   
slashing at Magneto's throat.  
  
    Against the real Magneto this would have been a   
suicide tactic.  But the Shadow King had been too busy   
twisting Jean Grey's mind.  He was unprepared and his   
battle instincts were non-existent.  His experience with   
magnetic power left a lot to be desired as well.    
Wolverines' claws quite simply tore his throat out.    
  
    To Wolverine's immense surprise, Jean lashed out   
at him with a telekinetic burst.  It was weak and feeble but   
enough to knock him off his feet.  He bounded back crying,   
"Jeanie, what's wrong with you girl."  Magneto rose from a   
pool of blood, his throat already healed but his face pale   
and gaunt with the drain such a feat had cost him.  "Why,   
she is my slave now of course.  No longer the Jean you   
knew she is mine now."  Wolverine leapt at him, a   
berserker rage contorting his features.  The Shadow King   
panicked and triggered a massive magnetic blast that sent   
Wolverine flying into the air.    
  
    He landed hurt, pained and gasping.  He looked up   
to see Exodus standing above him.  "You are too wild to   
be controlled Wolverine.  I will send you forth as a herald,   
tell them all my Master Magneto is coming and nothing will   
stop him from purging the face of this earth"  Wolverine   
leapt at him but was surrounded by an aura of light and   
flame.  Burning he flung himself on Exodus, too deep in a   
berserker rage to realise how badly hurt he was.  His claws   
slashed in Exodus but before he could deliver the killing   
stroke Exodus vanished in a flash of light.    
  
    "Rabbiting won't help you bub" Wolverine   
muttered.  He slipped back into the darkness.  He was   
coming back with help and all the gods in heaven wouldn't   
be enough to save Magneto.  
  
  
Epilogue <Same Place>  
  
    "Did he hurt you my lord?  Did the little berserker   
almost kill the mightiest of mutants?" Jean Grey taunted.    
  
    "Watch yourself Grey" the Shadow King retorted   
as he lowered himself into his throne.  The strain of the   
psionic healing clear on his face.  
  
    "Or you will do what?  You twisted and warped me   
into a perversion of everything I believe in.  You can't hurt   
me worse than that. Besides, I find I like taunting you now.    
It is... exciting.  If you don't like the new Jean Grey you   
have only yourself to blame.  You made me what I am   
now"  
  
    "Yes, I made you and together we will remake this   
world into my image."  
  
  
... to be continued ...


	12. Wolverine #97: Shadowlands Arc

Published: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 14:15:41 BST  
  
All characters copyright to Marvel Comics.  X-Writers is an e-mail   
fan-fiction group and makes no profit from this endevour.   
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
Wolverine #97 by JAC Delaney  
Adamantium Bound (4 of 7).  
(Author's note: Yes, this title is silly.  No, I won't change it)  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
[Prologue]  
  
    Wolverine melted into the darkness surrounding   
Magneto's camp.  He was as close to his limit as he had   
ever been, having taken major hits from both Exodus and   
Magneto.  But it was not his wounds that were   
bothering him, he couldn't clear the vision of a red-head   
from his mind.  There had only been three women   
Wolverine had ever truly loved, and two of them were   
dead now.  The third had just tried to assist one of his   
deadliest enemies in killing him.  
  
    She had been screaming, he could tell.  The tent   
had stunk with her fear and pain.  So what had Magneto   
done to her to pervert her like this?  He cursed to himself,   
he had a chance to kill Magneto once and while sorely   
tempted he had refrained from finishing him (author's   
note: way back in X-Men #3).  That was not a mistake   
Wolverine planned to repeat.  
  
    Behind him he could hear shouts, he recognised the   
voice as Barbarus, a savage land mutate he had fought   
before.  He was in no shape to go toe to toe with him or   
anyone else.  But he had an advantage that they didn't, he   
knew where Nereel's pickets were.  He smiled, as eager   
as they were they could easily be led into an ambush.    
Something had tainted them, driven their bloodlust to a   
fever pitch and blocked out their ability to think.  Their   
tough luck!  
  
  
Main [Professor X's Hut]  
  
    Rogue woke slowly.  She felt dizzy and disoriented   
from her encounter with Cyber.  She was unsure how   
much time had passed but the poison that Cyber had dosed   
her with seemed to be slowly wearing off.  She shakely  
stood in the close confines of the tent.  The professor was   
still there, his face was a pallid mask as if in death.  She   
heard a choking sound beside her.  The Acolyte Scanner   
was there, coughing and choking up blood.  It was silly to   
have even bothered to carry her here, but then what was   
the use of being an X-man if you didn't believe in hope  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but these stories had to be resurrected by complex means and the rest of this file was corrupted. If anyone has the original in full please contact me.


	13. X-Men #48: Shadowlands Arc

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
Most of the characters contained in this tale are copyright to   
Marvel Comics. X-Writers is an non-profit e-mail fan-  
fiction group so please don't sue us. It's not like we have   
any money anyway.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
X-Men #48 , It's always darkest before the Dawn  
             (But it gets a lot lighter next issue)  
Writer: JAC Delaney  
Assistant Editor: Elizabeth Celeste  
Editor in Chief: Marysia  
  
  
Prologue [Battle Carrier Freedom]  
  
    "So it's confirmed," Nick Fury broadcast. "The   
Aerians have their main base at their old home of Aerie   
Shalan.  The story Doom told us seems to check out..."   
Fury glanced at the impassive form of his old nemesis. "So   
we are going and we're going in full strength."  
  
    "Your mistrust is foolhardy," the icy voice of Doom   
intoned. "I have no more wish than you to see Magneto   
conquer the planet."  
  
    "Advisory noted," Fury snapped.  Something about   
all this was bothering him.  He had fought with Magneto in   
this very place against Zaladane.  The man could have acted   
then.  Why didn't he?  In any case it was too late to stop.  
  
    "First flight away," the technician reported.  "What   
is the word on nuclear release?"  
  
    "Negative.  We'll try a more conventional..."  Fury   
began.  
  
    "FOOL!" Doom raged. "If we make one mistake he   
will destroy us all!  I did not bring you all here in order to   
fall at the hands of Magneto solely due to your stupidity."  
  
    "They are mostly civilians there," Fury responded.   
"You tin plated dictator, I have been ordered to work with   
you but I don't have to like it.  We have the Avengers as   
back-up.  What could possibly go wrong?"  
  
  
Main [Somewhere Else]  
  
    "My son," the dark figure intoned, "I could not bear   
to see you destroyed.  They put their best against you and   
even crippled it took all they had to break you.  You are   
greater than this.  I have intervened to ensure that you will   
be strong again, that the masses of humanity shall not rise   
forth to suffocate the strong.  Xavier faces his ultimate   
challenge, his greatest friend and his greatest foe together.    
But there are others coming, who would take this challenge   
from him.  One of them is the daughter of a megalomaniac   
who might yet clear the scourge that consumes him.  I   
cannot permit this.  She is strong as yet but she will be   
tested further.  Her friends might swing the balance.  They   
will be tested against the greatest test of all, me.  For three   
years I have been growing since the birth of my angel of   
death while inferior copies have lulled everyone into a false   
confidence.  This will cost them greatly.  And you,   
Holocaust, a feeble attempt at a son from a world which   
should never have been, you are a dim third child .  Prepare   
yourself, for when I return you will be given the chance to   
prove yourself worthy of my blessing.  Worthy to be   
counted among the strong.  Good-bye son of my heart,   
ever you were my ideal, you rise against all the world   
sends against you and you overcome it.  Sinister's Aryan   
ideal will stand no chance against you in your prime.  It will   
be as it should be, as it should have been.  And the so   
called Avengers will soon have fallen comrades to avenge."  
  
  
[Astral Plane]  
  
    A soul hung in the balance between two warring   
psionic powers.  The shadow king was vast and bloated, a   
great dragon blasting forth psionic fire across the astral   
plane.  Against him stood three knights, three individuals in   
armour of light and glittering lances.  They stood against   
the fire and gritted astral teeth in determination.    
  
    The strongest of them was Charles Xavier.  A   
telepath without peer, he stood his ground against the   
bloated darkness because of the soul in the middle and   
because the existence of the dragon was an affront to a   
dream he had sacrificed everything for.  
  
    Beside him stood a man who had once wielded the   
life force of the very planet.  Erik Magnus Lensherr stood   
his ground against the unrushing darkness through sheer   
will and power he shouldn't possess.  But it had been like   
that lately, as his body had grown weaker, his powers had   
soared to untoward heights.  He blamed his fall from   
heaven but it had begun much sooner than that.  Poor   
Magneto, if only he had known Stryfe's legacy had three   
strains or had known more of Illyana Rasputin's plight.  
  
    The third Knight was in situation she had never   
dreamed she would be in, fighting side by side with her   
greatest enemy - Charles Xavier!  Marie was a  follower of   
Magnus, she had always been a follower in one form or   
another.  She  had dreamed of strong men who would  
protect her against  the evils of the world.  But inevitably   
they betrayed her.  Some, like Magnus himself had the will   
but the flesh was weak.  Others, like Cortez or Summers,   
had proven to be turncoats of the worst kind.  She was   
learning a lot about what it took to stand on one's own and   
find her own way.  She was not as involved in the battle as   
the other two, she was using part of her power to shield her   
idol Rogue from the onslaught of Exodus.  When Rogue   
fell Marie felt as if her soul was being torn from her.  
  
    Trapped in the middle (the captive maiden if you   
will in this decidedly medieval representation of astral   
combat, inaccurate as it is the head-blind can only really   
understand psychic combat through the medium of analogy,   
it is like a blind person understanding colour) was Jean   
Grey-Summers.  Captured by the Shadow King and   
infused with the darkness of his Shadow Queen (See UXM   
#273, AM) she had been co-opted by  him.  Now,   
however, she was trapped between the light and dark in   
her, for Xavier and the rest had reached her before the   
personality imposed on her by the Shadow King could   
solidify.  She was jerked back and forth as she tried to sort   
out her allegiance.    
  
    "Fools," the dark dragon shape of the Shadow King   
grumbled. "Can't you see that I have already won.  It is the   
sundown of your dream Charles Xavier and the dawn of   
mine.  Can't you feel the hatred, the pain that rocks this   
little island out of time?  Revel in it.  Luxuriate in it.  I have   
fought for this so long and against all odds it is mine.  It is   
too late to stop me now Xavier."  
  
    "You are a perversion of everything I have ever   
fought for Farouk.  You are far worse than any enemy I   
have had the displeasure of knowing, for you enjoy this   
sickness.  This madness.  Damn you Lord of Shadows, I   
will banish you there once and for all."  
  
    "Come now Charles.  I have waited a lifetime for   
vengeance, do you think I would be sloppy now?  The last   
defeat you gave me almost finished me but it was your own   
weakness that enabled me to find a way back.  It was your   
own arrogance of youth to kill my body and not finish off   
my mind that made me so powerful.  Don't you see old   
man, I am your future, far more so than the son you   
neglected."  
  
    "You KILLED my son you butcher.  You infect   
everything with hatred and misery.  NO MORE.  THIS   
ENDS HERE!"  
  
    "No Xavier," Magnus yelled. "He's baiting you.    
Don't break the psi-links..."  But his warning came too late   
as Xavier transformed into an angel of light and vengeance   
and assaulted the psyche of the Shadow King.  The King   
laughed as he struck at Xavier and giggled as the howls   
of agony resounded across the astral plane.  "Anchor us   
Scanner," Magnus ordered.  Seeing her look of hesitation   
he continued, "Do it girl before this madness spells our   
doom."  Magneto, Lord of the Fatal Attraction, stood forth   
and reached into the heart of the Dragon.  It howled a   
ghostly scream that caused the plane to shudder as Magnus   
drew his own captive self forth.  Then he turned and drove   
a blade of psionic energy into Scanner severing all of their   
connections to the Astral plane.  
  
    "Will you ever forgive me for leaving her to his   
mercies," Magneto whispered.  "But there was no other   
way...  Take solace dear friend in that I will suffer as she   
suffers..."  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Independence] POV: Black Widow  
  
    It had been a long time since I had felt fear going   
into battle.  It was even longer since I had felt any horror at   
the acts of war.  A trained assassin and warrior I had long   
been accustomed to bloodshed.  But this mission had me   
spooked.    
  
    Magneto was one of the most powerful men on   
earth, with these new psionic powers heaven knew how   
hard he would be to beat.  And Doom, ordering us about   
like lackeys just because his detection of the build-up   
here had warned us in time to intervene.  Or the Aerians   
themselves, a peaceful race designing doomsday weapons   
to take on the planet.  Something wasn't right.  I looked   
around at my fellow Avengers, old comrades I had learned   
to trust.  Quicksilver and Crystal were absent since their   
daughter was facing a flu of some kind.  Besides, there   
were more than enough of us, right?  
  
    I felt a mild surge of contempt for Wanda   
Maximoff.  She was less than half my age and felt she   
knew everything there was to know about leading.  Foolish   
girl, when would she ever learn that nothing was a sure   
thing.  It was her own father we were after with orders to   
take down by any means necessary, she pretended to be   
unconcerned about it.  She pretended a detached   
professionalism but her concern for her father came out in   
the odd word or phrase.  And I could see it when I looked   
into her eyes I knew she hated what we were doing.  Hell, I   
hated what we were doing!    
  
    The old Stalwarts were all here.  Hercules.  Giant   
Man.  Wasp.  USAgent. Deathcry.  Thor.  The Vision.    
Iron Man.  Hawk-eye.  Captain America, he alone seemed   
to truly mirror my concern with the way in which events   
were progressing.  I clench my teeth and wait for the results   
of the airstrike on the tactical monitor.  Damn it, this   
divided command stuff was getting on my nerves.  Doom   
wanted to play it hard and fast, Fury wanted to be cautious.    
The middle road we were walking on was a recipe for   
disaster.  
  
    Suddenly the monitor is blaring red.  The first   
contact between the airstrike and Aerie Shalan is being   
reported.  Four hundred and fifty planes and they are being   
slaughtered.  I told that bastard Doom that this wouldn't   
work.  I patch in a comm-link to the Battle Carrier   
Freedom, "This is Widow, I want to speak with Fury   
NOW."  I casually note the psionic disturbance we have   
been registering is gone now.  Suddenly the board is alive   
with paranormal detections.  Magneto is coming.  The   
comm-link bleeps.    
  
           "Fury"    
  
           "Damn it all Nick, get my people out there.  That's   
Magneto coming and we are going to have to try and stop   
him".  I hear a cold and merciless voice reply.  
  
          "Not yet.  Not until they are committed."    
  
          "Doom, people are dying out there."  A useless plea   
to a man with pity, without remorse.  Why did we let that   
snake aboard?  
  
      
[Battle Carrier Freedom]  
  
    Alarm klaxons signalled it was jump time.  Lizard   
checked her weapon on last time and led her squad out.  It   
was early but they had planned for this contingency.  Just a   
little longer walk.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Freedom: Bridge]  
  
    "That's enough Doom," Fury scowled. "You were   
joint commander under my sufferance, you're gone.  I   
should never have agreed to this in the first place you   
egomaniac.  The officials at the UN were suspicious   
enough of you to give me a second set of orders to be   
opened if you tried anything funny.  As of this moment you   
are relieved of all duties."  
  
    "Don't be more of a fool than you have to be,"   
Doom replied. "Those soldiers are but pawns, if we do not   
sacrifice them for greater gain the game is lost already."  He   
raised his arm.  Fury barely dodged the energy bolt.  "If   
you are not with me then you are against me!"  
  
    Before Fury could reply the bridge exploded.  The   
most beautiful redhead Fury had ever seen (she looked   
like a bird of fire; passionate, beautiful and untouchable)   
killed him before he could continue his debate with Doom.    
His last thoughts were how he had failed everybody, been   
too conservative and worried too much about his men.    
And of how beautiful the woman was.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Liberty]  
  
    General Thunderbolt Ross slammed down the   
comset.  "The Freedom is under attack, and her bridge is   
out.  With Doom and Fury out of the loop I am assuming   
command here.  Flank Speed for Aerie Shalan.  Let's   
see what that bastard says when his home base is under   
attack."  The comm-link bleeped.    
  
          "Ross, this is Widow, what are you doing?"    
  
          "Giving this butcher a taste of his own medicine."    
    
          "Wait..." she began before her set buzzed into static.    
   
          "Cheap government contractors" Ross mumbled.    
  
  
[Battle Carrier Independence]  POV: Black Widow  
  
    He was among us before anyone knew he had   
come, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the hold.    
"This is a challenge for Xavier and his ilk, you will  not   
intervene."  Then he turned and looked at Wanda and   
suddenly she vanished in a flash of light.  Disintegrated   
most likely.  I never liked that cold-hearted bitch but that   
was a bad way to go, even for her (and not that I hadn't   
dreamed of this happening to her at times, mind you).    
"Restrain him" I ordered.  It was the last in a string of   
mistakes (both mine and others) that began with agreeing   
to this mission in the first place.  Still, if we only lost   
Wanda I wouldn't cry too much.  
  
    As I watched his body morphed and wings sprang   
forth from his back.  Suddenly the room was sprayed with   
razor sharp projectiles.  I had a few near misses but they   
staggered me like I was punched in the gut.  The very   
passage of these things caused pain and suffering, how   
much worse to be actually hit. I could hear the screams of   
my friends dying.  The Vision was trying to use his phasing   
power to assault this stranger - causing the dark figure  
to reel with the force of the attack.  But however he was   
doing it, the stranger seemed able to resist the attacks.  His   
hands suddenly glowed with energy and I smelled frying   
circuits as the Vision literally exploded spraying red hot   
metal across the room.  Thor struck him with his hammer.    
The blow rocked the stranger but he recovered with the   
speed of a adder, black armour forming where none had  
been before.  Thor hit him again, he was buying time with   
his life but the stranger swung a mighty blow that  caused   
him to fly free of the ship.  
  
    I scanned the room.  Deathcry, Wasp, Hawkeye    
and Giant man were screaming as the strange projectile   
jutted from them.  They seemed to have grown old and   
feeble as if the life had been drawn out them.  Iron Man   
was blasting away with  repulsor beams that seemed to have   
little effect. The brave Captain made a running charge and   
tried to down the stranger with a blow from his shield while   
Hercules grabbed him from behind.  I aimed a widow's   
sting at his damned eyes and blasted away.  USAgent leapt   
with a flying kick.    
  
    The stranger morphed and flowed, a new   
appendage causing Steve to be flung out the hole made by   
Thor in the side of the ship.  He was a brave man but I   
could hear him scream as he was flung towards the hole.    
Only his incredible agility enabled him to prevent being   
flung to certain doom.  He collapsed in heap, alive or dead I   
couldn't tell.  Hercules was pinning him when those   
damned wings sprang up and severed both of his arms.    
The son of Zeus fell , he seemed to be trying in turn to use   
one missing hand to grasp the stump of his other arm.  The   
strange malaise that had struck so many began to affect him   
and he began to scream.  It was a bad way to go for a man   
who had so prided himself on his strength, weak, helpless   
and impotent.  
  
    Iron Man and I kept up our blasts hoping for a   
weakness, any weakness.  The stranger's arm shot out and   
surrounded USAgent.  He began to squeeze.  The sounds   
that came out were horrible and only added to the hideous   
background noise.  I watched a witchfire glow of energy as   
Iron Man used some sort of backup weapon against the   
Stranger.  He burned and scarred and screamed.  I heard a   
voice that would haunt my nightmares, cold and   
unforgiving like gravel being crushed.  "You have hurt me   
and few have done so, you are one of the strong Tony   
Stark and thus is my wrath upon you spared for this day   
you have passed the test set before you."  I made a break   
for it, there was nothing else that could be done here.  I   
wasn't fast enough.  He grabbed me with his other arm and   
brought me to him. I waited for the last moment and fired,   
energy blasting through his armour.  He held me too him,   
face impassive despite the agony he must be feeling.  
  
    "Please," I asked. "Who are you and why did you   
do this?"  I was surprised at the helplessness in my voice.  
  
    "I am En Saba Nuhr," he replied, "and you have   
shown me that I am again what I once was.  I am strong   
once more and the Avengers have been judged weak.  If   
you are the best humans can offer against the coming storm   
then I have already won."  His damned laughter rang in my   
ears accompanied by the screams of the dying.  I heard   
shouts as marines stormed the hold followed by the awful   
sound of his wings firing once again.  Repulsor blasts filled   
the room as Iron Man sought to rescue me, valiant man that   
he was.  And I could have sworn I saw I a shield flying   
through the air.  But then blackness took me  and I was cut   
loose into the void.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Freedom]  
  
    Killing Fury had been fun.  He was an ally of the   
despised Charles Xavier and an enemy of her master.  Jean   
laughed a cold, mocking laugh.  It was a mistake that almost   
killed her.  The attack on the bridge had killed the crew but   
one man had been encased in steel and force-shields and he   
responded with a fury born of an almost inhuman rage at   
being thwarted so.  Her telekinetic shield barely held.  She   
turned to face Victor von Doom.  A voice in her head   
spoke, *Bring him to me.  His genius will serve me well.*    
With a girlish laugh and a toss of her red hair Jean launched   
herself into the air.    
  
    Behind her Doom raged.  He would make an   
example of her, show the world the awful consequences of   
attacking Doom.  He activated jet boosters in his armour   
and rose forth from the ship.  Beneath him he could see   
Jump troopers securing LZ X-Ray (the back-up landing   
zone).  The Battle Carrier Independence was burning and   
Liberty had broken away.  That fool Ross.  Phoenix would   
not be the only one he would make an example of today.    
For to dare to trifle with Doom was death itself.  
  
  
[Battle at the River: Battlefield]  
  
    Exodus looked at the young woman being restrained   
by Barbarus.  He smiled a sick and twisted smile.  The   
Shadow King had twisted and tainted him and brought out   
all of the evil and cruelty that resided in his nature, he who   
had seen centuries pass had finally met an evil great enough   
for him.  The mortal frame of Paris Bennett no longer   
resisted the darkness  for which it was an unwilling vessel.  
  
    "Hello Rogue,"  he said. "Tough break.  Battle's   
over.  You lost.  I wonder what will happen when my   
master breaks you to his command."  
  
    "Ah'll rip that grin off yer scuzy face first.  Ah was   
a slave of his once, never again."    
  
    Exodus suddenly lost interest in the surroundings as   
an astral communication touched him.  "There is no time   
for pleasure.  We are needed.  Barbarus you are in   
command here.  Bring the army back to Aerie Shalan".  
  
    "An' Rogue?"  
  
    "Make an example of her to all who would stand   
against the glory of Magneto.  Crucify her."  Exodus   
vanished in a flash of light.  Rogue began to struggle against   
Barbarus but was too weak from injuries, poison and   
fatigue.  Around her she could her the cheers and cries for   
blood, an unnatural level of hatred even for the swamp   
men.  Something was deeply wrong.  She focused herself,   
she had to bring all her resources to bear to escape this.    
Rough hands thrust her against a tree and Barbarus raised a   
hammer and a spike.  
  
    "You know something, scuzball," Rogue said   
sweetly.  
  
    "What?" mocked Barbarus  
  
    "Exodus was the only one of you all able t' give me   
a decent fight.  Ain't that a crying shame... for you!"  The   
first kick took Barbarus off his feet as a mass brawl ensued.   
  
  
[In the Sky Above]  
  
    Doom saw the cloaked and helmeted form of   
Magneto in the distance.  Phoenix was making straight for   
him.  He braked his jets and recalibrated his blasters.    
Activating back-up point singularity power supplies he let   
loose a blast of raw energy.  It was a distraction, at the   
same time he released a trio of plastic robots that blasted at   
Magneto.    
  
    The Shadow King parried the energy blast easily.    
This was going to be easier than he thought, although the   
mental turbulence since his battle with Xavier was   
increasing rapidly.  Then the plastic robots struck him.  The   
blast would have killed him if he had not been wearing   
armour and if he couldn't heal himself using psionic energy.    
Even so it came close.  His mind was fuzzy as memories of   
Eric Lensherr blazed in his skull, he was not long for this   
host.  He reached for Doom with magnetic force but it   
melted away like water off a ducks back.     
  
    Doom could see the eyes of Magneto already, they   
were filled with darkness and madness.  He pressed the   
attack, Magneto had almost fallen.  Blistering energy bolts   
were exchanged.  How could he lose, he was Doom!  The   
attack from Exodus was blocked by a net of spells he had   
woven earlier.  He turned from his attack on Magneto and   
reached for the throat of Exodus.  He was the power source   
he had been coveting, power that rightfully belonged to   
Doom.  For a second he was balanced in a equilibrium of   
energy between Magneto and Exodus, blazing as bright as   
the sun.  For some unknown reason his psionic dampers   
had kicked in at excessively high levels.  Some fool would   
pay for failing to calibrate them properly.  And then, like a   
bird of prey, Phoenix lunged, tearing at his already maxed   
out armour and stripping him of it.    
  
    The Shadow King reached forth to Doom's mind   
gloating at the confusion he read in Doom's eyes.  The poor   
fool still didn't understand what had happened to him.  He   
reached in and encountered a will as indomitable as any he   
had ever encountered.  It was impossible, Doom was   
only human.  The Shadow King was flung out.  Pain and   
effort marked Doom's scarred ruin of a face.    
  
    "Try all you want to resist me little man but that is   
but a taste of what you will get time and time again until   
you are mine."  
  
    "Never, I am Doom and I will triumph over all   
adversity".  Jean giggled (and yet there was a distant echo   
in her soul telling her this was wrong).  Exodus looked   
stern.    
  
    Suddenly a shout rang out.  "I say thee nay.    
Unhand him foul varlets," and Thor lunged into Magneto   
swinging his hammer.  Unseen in the fury of the sudden   
attack Doom plunged the 20 odd feet into the soft forest   
floor.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Liberty]  
  
    "That's it General," the tech responded. "The ship   
can't take anymore pounding.  Half our systems are off-line   
and we are burning.  Most of the crew is dead."  
  
    "We should abandon ship but they are butchering   
any escape pods that make a break for it.  We are finished   
General," the XO said his voice steady but grim. "We have   
lost contact with Freedom and something has destroyed   
Independence."  
  
    "Not like this," Ross muttered, "Not like this.  If we   
are all going to die let it mean something!"  He jumped   
forward and pushed the helmsman aside. "I'm taking you   
with me!  If I'm going to die I'm taking you with me."  He   
engaged the emergency thrusters.  The mighty ship sped   
towards the fortress of the Aerians.  Energy blasts rocked   
the crippled hulk.  One of them hit the bridge killing every-  
one on it instantly.  Ross never got to find out that he did   
successfully ram and destroy his enemies greatest base.    
The antimatter powered engines went up in a blinding   
explosion that put most nuclear weapons to shame.   The   
explosion exterminated a peaceful race that had been    
corrupted by the darkness of the Shadow King.  The shock   
waves smashed through the Savage land, blackening the   
sky.  And, as a few scattered survivors crawled forth, black   
rain began to fall.  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
    The Shadow King raged.  The mental effort to   
restrain Magneto had become incredible ever since the   
"ghost" had entered his body.  The fight with Doom and   
Thor had nearly finished him.  And now Doom was   
missing, although he wouldn't be for long.  No-one could   
hide from him for long!  As for Thor, somehow he had   
managed to hold them off despite the power and savagery   
with which Jean had attacked.  He was gravely injured,   
probably mortally by her merciless pounding but he was  
still alive, curse him.  Only his foolish code of honour that   
drove him to try and assist his fellow Avengers against   
whatever had attacked them had given the Shadow King   
the respite he needed.  The damage had been considerable,   
that hammer didn't look like much but it sure packed a   
wallop!  
  
    Two of the great warships had been destroyed, one   
by a force that the Shadow King neither knew nor trusted.    
But the third was intact and Exodus had finished the crew   
after disabling the psi-baffles.  He would not be in this form   
long, already he could sense his next one being made   
ready.  A position of power and influence awaited him, a   
chance to destroy Xavier's Dream and impose his own.  
  
    The acolytes were a problem, his hold on them was   
too fragile, they might yet turn against him.  He mentally   
contacted Exodus.  *Take the Acolytes and the remaining   
warship.  Devastate Great Britain... and pay special   
attention to Muir Island.*  The reply was swift and   
immediate. *I will burn the Island to the bedrock.*  That   
took care of that, the acolytes were disposed of and the   
place of his last defeat would soon be a distant memory.    
He fought off another wave of pain as the personality of   
Magnus tried, once again, to reassert itself.  
  
    He turned to Jean.  Was there something in her   
eyes, a second presence, no he would have sensed anything   
like that.  "Come my Shadow Queen, there are enemies out   
there.  Doom will be mine and I will humble Xavier,   
destroy him as he destroyed me.  And the little telepath who   
dared help him will suffer as he does."  There was little   
time left.  Or perhaps, all the time in the world!  
  
\---------------------to be continued------------------------  
  
See Wolverine #98 for the fate of Wolverine and the   
Scarlett Witch as well as more on En Saba Nuhr.  Plus, just   
what did happen to Xavier and Scanner after the psi-battle.    
The conclusion of the Battle between the Avengers and   
Apocalypse as Rogue comes to the rescue.  
  
See next issue for "A Sword out of Legend" , the scene   
shifts to merry ol' England (or actually dreary Scotland but   
merry ol' England sounds better) for a duel between   
Excalibur and the Acolytes.  Will Muir Island be destroyed?    
Will England be nuked?  Will the editor kill me if I do   
either of these two things?  
  
Then see Wolverine #99 "Tidings of War" for the final   
alliance against the Shadow King and Wolverine seeks to   
break free of his captor to join in the struggle.  What is   
going on between Doom and Wanda?  
  
And then be here for X-Men #50 'No Price too High"   
  
  
  



	14. Wolverine #98: Shadowlands Arc

Wolverine #98 , Adamantium Bound (5 of 7)  
Writer: JAC Delaney  
Editor in Chief: Marysia  
  
  
Prologue  
  
     The Shadow King turned his madness-filled eyes on   
Jean.  Was there something in her eyes, a second presence,   
no he would have sensed anything like that.  He was wrong.    
"Come my Shadow Queen, there are enemies out there.    
That fool von Doom will be mine and I will humble Xavier,   
destroy him as he destroyed me.  And the little telepath who   
dared help him will suffer as he does."  The Shadow King   
mocked. There was little time left.  Or perhaps, all the time   
in the world!  Or so he thought, as an intruder slowly made   
himself felt in Jean's mind.    
  
    Magneto tread slowly in the quiet of Astral space.    
Jean's mind blazed like a flaming brand even here where   
most minds were quiet and empty.  He strode forth with   
purpose, no amount of danger would dissuade him from his   
goal.  He had already braved many dangers in piercing this  
deeply.  If the Shadow King detected him he would be   
snuffed out like a candle flame. He could see her now, a  
raging fire more beautiful than he had dreamed it would be   
but streaked with darkness.  Around her danced flickering   
shadows, mocking the tainted soul that lay within.  So this   
was Farouk's Shadow Queen!  This was what this monster   
had done to Jean.      
  
    He reached forth to her.  "Listen to me Jean.  I need   
your help. I am seeking to defeat the Shadow King but   
trapped outside my own form I am nearly powerless"  
  
    "What do you want me to do about it?"  Jean said   
with a wicked grin  "Do you know what he has done to   
me?  Do you have any idea?  Don't you realise I like what I   
have become?"  
  
    "We have all suffered Jean."  The dark figure   
mocked and laughed at him.  He nearly panicked, but the   
Shadow King had not yet corrupted her here at the core of   
her being and the blazing fire kept the shadows at bay.  He   
would win through against all obstacles.  "I need your help   
Jean, don't tell me you have forgotten what you used to be   
like.  Doesn't anything mean anything to you?"  He saw a   
glimmer of a pair of images.  One of Logan, one of Scott.    
"Stand with me Jean, I need your power against our foe."  
  
    "So you can strike back?  So you can hurt more   
people?  I don't trust you Magneto."  
  
    "I know child.  I weep for all the sins on my soul, I   
know I am damned.  But I won't give up, not now not ever.    
Not while there is a ghost of a chance I can bring this all to   
an end."  
  
    Jean nodded and brought him within her.  He was   
shocked by the closeness of the link, he had never allowed   
such intimacy between himself and anyone, not even   
Magda.  He saw the deep and abiding love she had for  
Scott and was shamed by its purity.  And then he saw the   
link between that made this possible and his soul wept hot   
tears of self-hatred and rage.  "I never knew... what did he   
do to you?"   
  
     "The sad truth, Magnus, is that he did nothing I  
did not want him to do.  That is what makes the Shadow   
King so vile, he twists and warps our worst traits, but   
somehow it is still you doing all these awful things.  I never   
dreamed such evil existed... oh lord, I'm so scared"  
  
     "Hush child, one way or the other we will make it   
right."  As Magnus looked at her he saw her suddenly as a   
child, all alone in the night.  
  
    "Promise?"  
  
    "On whatever shreds remain of my soul I promise I   
will get you free of this if it costs me everything I have."    
Together they stepped forth.    
  
    Already departing, the Shadow King felt a psionic   
murmur from Jean and dismissed it.  Probably just his   
Shadow Queen indulging herself by mentally torturing   
someone.  He would have to remember to ask her about it   
when he had time.  He focused on holding on to Magneto's   
body, not even realising how distracted he had become.  
  
  
Main  [Somewhere else]  
   
    Wolverine opened his eyes slowly and glanced   
around.  He was held in restraints made out of some sort of   
metal.  He strained but they wouldn't give.  He could smell   
others in the room although darkness made it hard to be   
certain.  He recognised one he would call an ally (Scarlet  
Witch) and several he felt were dire enemies.  He continued   
his futile struggles a low growl arising from his throat.  
  
    "So," rang forth a cold, lifeless, mocking voice.   
"The great Weapon X is reduced to being a prisoner of   
Apocalypse.  A fitting fate for those who would deny his   
glory."  The voice belonged to a skull that seemed to be   
burning, or at least the jaw on the skull moved with the   
words.  
  
    "Name's Wolverine bub and ol' Poccy wouldn't   
know glory if he tripped over it."  
  
    "Really?"  Laughter rang out.  "Soon I will be free   
to serve him once again and then heretics like you will be   
treated as you deserve.  I have seen the truth and it makes   
me strong.  Soon I will destroy all who stand against the   
glory that is Apocalypse."  
  
    "Take your best shot bub.  But be prepared for the   
consequences."  
  
    "Enough of this nonsense," a familiar voice   
sounded. "The key here is escape and not hostility.  If we   
work together..."  
  
    Holocaust laughed again.  Wolverine recognised the   
voice instantly.  "I thought you died Moreau, back when   
you turned against Hodge.  You think I would ever help   
someone like you!  I ain't one of yer freaking mutates.  
I've been a slave once, didn't like it much.  Never knew   
anyone who did."  
  
    "Listen, if we put it all behind us..."  
  
    "Like hell!  You get within reach of my claws and   
there ain't no way on this world you're walking out on two   
legs."  
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    Magneto and Jean focused, she held the shadows at   
bay while he centered his mind on scanning.  The result   
almost brought him to his knees.  He read the thoughts of   
the surviving Avengers and learned of his daughter's death   
and the desperate battle against Apocalypse raging aboard  
the doomed ship.  There would be time for grief later.  One   
more person he cared for was dead and he was unable to   
save her, only to avenge her.  He had never really known   
his daughter and now he never would.  It was clear the   
Avenger's were finished.  They had been hit too hard, too  
fast.  It was a matter of minutes before Apocalypse finished   
toying with them and finished them off.  Thor might have   
swung the balance if he had not been so gravely injured   
fighting earlier.  Stark had the power but his armour's   
power cells were running dry.  He had to find a way to   
assist them without alerting the Shadow King.  And then he   
found the answer.  
  
    *Rogue, you are needed NOW!*  
  
    *Magnus, is that you?*  
  
    *Open your mind to me.*  
  
    *But...*  Confusion and doubt flowed from the   
young woman.   
  
    *Do it.*  He flooded her with an understanding of   
what had happened, both with the Shadow King and   
Xavier.  Then he showed her what was happening to the   
Avengers.  She tried to resist but he pounded through her   
shields until she understood and stopped trying to stop him.  
  
    "Ah'm on it.*  Rogue headed towards the desperate   
battle in the sky.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Independence]  Stark's POV  
  
    They were going to lose this one Stark figured.  The   
marines that had flooded in had provided some distraction   
but mostly they had died a pointless death at the hands of a   
madman.  The ship rocked and bucked, it had been   
damaged enough by the fight that it would likely have to be  
abandoned.  He kept firing, his phase locked meson   
cannons seemed to be his only effective weapon, but they   
took an awful toll on his energy cells.    
  
    The Black Widow was helpless, her limp body at   
the feet of the stranger.  At least she was better off than   
most of his comrades, his friends.  He choked back a sob.    
Captain America was simply amazing as he dodged and   
weaved, somehow evading the flights of deadly projectiles.   
But even the passage of the razor spikes near him took an   
obvious toll. There was something in the spikes that   
disrupted living energy patterns, only his armours defences   
had saved him from the same fate.  
  
    He watched with a flicker of hope as Mjolner   
smashed into the stranger once again, but then he saw the   
shape Thor was in, torn and ragged going on pure guts and   
willpower.  He had hoped the god of thunder would be   
back but something had torn him up pretty badly out there.   
Stark had a sinking feeling about what it was too.  Damn it   
Magneto, why did you have to play this stupid game?  Thor   
was just one more target for this madman.  Still, whoever   
the stranger was, he was certainly being battered badly.  He   
watched in horrified fascination as the stranger once again  
charged his hands and left a massive burst of energy forth,   
the same type that had killed the Vision.  He dodged the   
bolt.  Barely.  They couldn't keep this up much longer.  
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    Xavier woke slowly.  His eyes adjusted to the rising   
morning sun.  Here, near the equinox, the Antarctic still   
had days and nights.  He pushed himself upright and looked   
around.  Next to him was a blonde girl with a tattooed face.    
She had obviously carried him until he collapsed.  He saw a  
horrible wound in her back.  He reached over to her.  
  
    Marie turned to him and looked at him.  *Just what   
did you think you were doing back there?*  
  
           *I was trying to put an end to this, once and for all.*  
  
    *Old fool, you let the Shadow King manipulate   
you like a puppet!  Since when did you ever care about   
David?  You spent a lifetime neglecting him and now he is   
suddenly important?  Besides, the King didn't kill him.   
He got better.*  
  
    *I... I forgot*  
  
    *You will have to do better than this.  You cost us   
Magneto in the last fight...*  
  
    *You're right, my delusion is gone.*  
  
    *You mean dead, killed by the Shadow King as the   
price of your stupidity.*    
  
    *That isn't fair.*  
  
    *It isn't meant to be.  We have a long walk ahead of   
us, it's time we got started.*  
  
    *You know I can't walk Scanner.*  
  
    *Ah yes.  I should leave you here old cripple, see   
what the Dinos do when they come.  But I won't.*  With a   
grunt of pain she rose.  *Time to make a stretcher of some   
kind....*  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Freedom]  
  
    Exodus lounged in the ruins of the bridge.  He   
smiled a grim smile as he anticipated the slaughter to come.    
Magneto was gone, his debt to the fossil for releasing him   
was discharged and his new master was much greater.  He   
glanced around at the acolytes.  The shattered remains of   
those who had gathered to Magneto's standard, the poor   
fools had been no match for the glory that had consumed   
them.  Exodus grinned, the hunt was on and those before   
him would fall.  
  
  
[Battle Carrier Independence]  Tony Stark's POV  
  
    Rogue came through the wall like a bolt of lightning   
and headed straight for the stranger.  I had figured we were   
all dead, Cap was staggering and Thor was on his knees.    
And then she was there.  Her blows hit so hard I could feel   
the shock waves.  She bowled over the dark stranger and   
somehow managed to avoid his razor wings.  It was almost   
as if she was being watched over by a guardian angel.  
  
    I turned my power levels to emergency overload   
and I hit him with everything I had as hard as I could.  The   
blast rocked him to his knees. Rogue just kept hitting.  I fell   
over as the feedback melted every circuit in my armour.    
Thor stepped forth and raised Mjolner to bring down a  
crippling blow to the stranger.  There was not a shred of   
mercy in his eyes.  Thor was actually going to kill him, and   
after what he had done I couldn't blame him.  
  
    And then the stranger vanished in a burst of light.  'I   
guess we weren't as weak as he thought,' I thought with a   
snide smirk, which was suddenly erased by pain at the   
thought of all the dead.  Friends and comrades whom I   
would never see again.  They had already gone silent and  
cold.  Rogue stepped towards me, pain etched in her eyes.  
  
    I saw the metal warp and weave around us.  All of   
us were too weak to protest, too numbed from the fighting   
and its aftermath.  I could see the strain on Rogue's face   
reaching a breaking point.  She was fighting hard against   
some unseen force.  I looked at Magneto and saw madness  
etched in his eyes.  My guts went cold.  
  
    He dragged us out of the ship, helpless bound   
captives.  I heard Steve try to argue with him. "Magneto,   
there are still two thousand men aboard that ship, they are   
helpless.  We surrender.  Please.  I know that whatever you   
are you are not a murderer."    
  
    "I have changed," he replied in a voice that sounded   
different somehow, "and I have grown greater."  He   
squeezed his fist and the ship crumpled.  If any of our   
comrades had somehow survived they were dead now  
as the ship exploded inside a magnetic shell, only slag and   
ash remained.    
  
    Another figure approached.  A beautiful red-head   
who looked for all the world like the X-Man Jean Grey.    
But what would she be doing with a murderer and terrorist   
like Magneto?  
  
  
[Somewhere else]  
  
    Apocalypse staggered and groaned as he appeared   
in his lab.  The Avengers had been tested and most found   
wanting.  The survivors would be strengthened.  He turned   
to his monitors.  His captives were arguing among them-  
selves, good!  He had permitted them to speak to each   
other.  The time was coming for these agents of testing to   
rise forth.  Great enemies of mutant kind , they would test   
mutants to their limits.  The weak would perish and the   
strong survive.  His dark wind would be unleashed against   
mutant kind, they would band together to survive and the   
strong would come forth.    
  
    The time was coming to begin again what Sinister   
had disrupted so thoroughly so long ago.  His time was   
coming, the age of apocalypse was going to be on this   
world sooner than anyone knew.  But first there were   
things to do.  He adjusted his controls and snared a man, a   
strong man whom Apocalypse had once feared.  He   
couldn't be only human, it was impossible, inconceivable   
that a mere human could hold this much power, inspire this  
much fear.  But if he was merely human then perhaps the   
time had come to prune the vine of humanity of this   
annoying deviation, once and for all.  
  
    Doom would be his, one way or the other.  The   
tightness he felt couldn't be fear could it?  The last time   
they had faced each other he had been grievously   
weakened.  This time the outcome would be different.  
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    Doom scanned the sky above him, except for that   
unfortunate encounter with Magneto everything was   
proceeding perfectly.  Those fools at SHIELD should have   
realised that he bore them no good will.  They would do   
their best and fail.  SHIELD would be humiliated and a   
major annoyance would have been removed.  He was   
seeking power and he had nearly had it.  Exodus wasn't   
human despite what one might think by looking at the shell   
through which the demon operated.  What sick and   
terrible price had Magneto paid for the services of one so   
great?  Bah, it was no matter.  He would murder the red-  
headed harlot for daring to delay the eventual triumph of   
Doom.  Soon he would be victorious and a world would   
know the blessing of being ruled by Doom.  
  
    It was with a profound feeling of shock that he   
realised he was being teleported out of his armour to a   
destination far away.    
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    Magneto realised the Shadow King's intent   
instantly.  He would slay the Avengers and thus ensure that   
they would cause no further problems.  This madness had   
to end.  With a will second to none he struck at Jean's mind   
with all his new mental force and shattered the chains that  
bound her, already stretched and weakened by his presence.    
  
    Together, he joined with Jean and plunged back   
into his own mind. The Shadow King was a Dragon; a   
cold, evil drake.  He took the form of a Knight out of   
legend and he drove his lance deep.  This time there would   
be no Xavier to falter and destroy the assault.  Weakened   
and frail the Dragon attacked and tore at him, over-  
whelming his defences.  He stabbed and struck and felt the   
damage he did rebound across the astral plane.  The ground   
rocked where the Dragon stood as his mind sought to reject   
the Shadow King.  
  
    And then Jean was there, a blazing bird of fire she   
overwhelmed the Shadows in her brightness.  He heard a   
cry of rage, "Little King, fool that you are, now face me on   
my natural plane.  Her I am all powerful and you are   
nothing!"  She blazed like a nova and drove the Shadow   
King forth.  Defeated and powerless he fled, casting him-  
self loose into the void he desperately sought a new host.  
  
    Magneto unclenched his fist staring at the world   
from his own eyes.  His body ached, the strange malady   
that had made him so powerful still afflicted him.  But he   
was back and he would never let this happen again.  If   
Xavier ever turned his mental abilities against him he would  
kill him and...  No, he would merely kill.  He was no sadist.  
  
    *Have you learned nothing?* Jean asked. *Come,   
let us tend to our injured comrades.*  
  
    *He will have taken over Sauron by now, in his   
weakened state it is the only host he will be able to possess.    
If we strike quickly enough he won't have time to find a   
new host.  Let us track him to his lair and finish him.  If we   
delay it will only give him time to recover.*  
  
    *And abandon our own?*  
  
    I see my path clearly but I turn away.  The Shadow   
King will wait and I will save those I can.   I lower the   
captive Avengers to the ground and free them.  Iron man is   
trapped in slagged armour.  Thor, a god among men, is   
almost dead.  Rogue looks devastated and empty.  Jean is   
like a bird of prey, and a hungry one.   She alone still has   
the capacity to carry this battle on.  The Black Widow is   
limp and unconscious. Only Rogers watches me.  Some-  
how he knows what has happened and I see a glint of   
respect in his eyes.  But it is not enough to overwhelm the   
horror, the fatigue.  I am so tired, of killing, of hatred and   
of war.  One last time I swear to myself, one last time and I   
will find a place of quiet where no man has been before.    
Solitude at last.  As a child I dreamed of this and this world   
wearies me too much.  I have spent a lifetime fighting   
against the forces of the world - seeking to protect my own   
from the darkness that closes in on all I care for.  In the end   
everyone has turned against me, my only friend in this cold   
and empty world sought to murder me.  A girl I thought I   
might love came with him as did my own son, my own   
flesh and blood sought to kill me while I was sleeping.    
Now my daughter is dead.  There is nothing left to tie me to   
this world and I am so weary.  But I will have vengeance   
for what was done to me and done in my name.  One last   
battle and then at last I will rest!  
  
  
[Somewhere Else]  
  
    Logan screamed as the metal flowed and melded   
itself to his bones, he could see the gleaming red eyes of   
Apocalypse and he cursed the pain that the machines   
caused him.  It was less than last time, much less.  But  
it still burned into his body and mind, an unnatural agony.    
Tubes and wires jutted out of his flesh at odd angles.  The   
tall imperial figure overseeing this was rapt with concen-  
tration.  Wolverine remembered seeing him before, the first   
time this was done.  
  
    He could see two other captives opposite to him.    
One was a middle aged man with brown hair.  He had once   
been handsome but his face was a mass of scar tissue.  His   
eyes gleamed like those of a caged wolf, he was nearly as   
dangerous caged as free.  The woman next to him was an   
Avenger, Wanda Maximoff.  She looked younger some-  
how, as if years had fallen from her.  She seemed scared as   
well, lacking the confidence and experience he had seen in   
her before.    
  
    A voice rang forth in his skull.  *I can't talk long   
because my store of mystic energy is limited even with   
Wanda assisting me.  Our Captor has underestimated his   
prey.  He is hurt and hurt badly.  He will release you once   
the bonding process is over.  He seems to enjoy the  
struggles that ensue with his "lab rats".  He thinks we are   
helpless and he has nothing to fear.  He is wrong.  When he   
releases you instead of fighting him, free me.  I will do the   
rest.*  
  
    *An' what guarantee do I have you won't leave us to   
rot here?  Sorry Doomy but I know who you are and I don't   
exactly think of you as the trustworthy type.*  
  
    *I give you my word that all who stand with me on   
this will win free from this chamber of horrors.  All who   
stand against me will die.  So swears Victor von Doom.*  
  
    Wolverine felt the contact depart from his mind.    
He clenched his teeth as hard as he could to keep from   
screaming as the metal savaged his system.  What was   
Apocalypse planning?  Why was he doing this?  
  
  
Epilogue  [Fitzroy's ex-Fortress]  
  
    Lady Deathstrike looked at the display case.  Fitzroy   
had been foolish, careless.  There were so few organics left   
in any of the Reaver's that not even decapitation was   
necessarily effective in killing the least of them, let alone   
their leader. He should have made sure that Pierce was   
dead.  The man had been a fool, he had only succeeded by   
using technology that he had stolen using his awesome   
mutant abilities.  But to die in such a silly foolish way, that   
was unforgivable for a man who aspired to any sort of   
greatness.  His error gave her a chance to salvage her   
personal honour.  
  
    She had obtained Lord Deathwind's formula for   
binding adamantium to bones from a scientist who had held   
it secret so many years.  Jamie Munoz knew he was going   
to die as soon as he had seen her enter his lab.  He had   
been a brave man and had tried to resist, it did him no good   
not against her.  Her fathers' life's work was once again in   
her possession.  The honour of her family had been   
restored at long last and Munoz had died for the arrogance   
of trying to hide it from her.  Died in agony after watching   
his children die at her hands.  It was merely what he   
deserved.  
  
    She stared at the still form of Donald Pierce.  There   
was so little of the man left, just the upper part of his torso.    
He had been torn to pieces by the advanced sentinels that   
Fitzroy had unleashed.  She had already salvaged what she   
could of the advanced technology, it was even more   
advanced than she was.  It would do wonders for a new   
generation of Reavers.  She extended Adamantium nails   
and contemplated her options for a moment.  Then she   
shattered the display case and brought forth the remains of   
the man to whom she had sworn fealty.  Wires shot forth as   
she linked internal computers to the hulk in front of her.    
The diagnostics confirmed her suspicions.  The stasis fields   
had kicked in and preserved the core organics.  So little of   
the man was left but it was enough.  
  
    The Reavers had died in the Outback of Australia to   
an enemy they didn't even see coming.  But now they   
would rise again.  She had sworn loyalty to Pierce and she   
had sworn to kill Wolverine.  Now, at last, her vows would   
be fulfilled.  
      
\-----------------------------------------------------------  
 See X-Men 49 for "A Sword out of Legend" , the scene   
 shifts to merry ol' England (or actually dreary Scotland   
 but  merry ol' England sounds better) for a duel between   
 Excalibur and the Acolytes.  Will Muir Island be   
 destroyed?  Will England be nuked?  Will the editor kill   
 me if I do either of these two things?  
   
 Then see Wolverine #99 "Tidings of War" for the final   
 alliance against the Shadow King and Wolverine seeks to   
 break free of his captor to join in the struggle.  What is   
 going on between Doom and Wanda?  Will they have the   
 ability defeat Apocalypse and lead an escape or will they   
 all die in the attempt?  
   
 And then be here for X-Men #50 'No Price too High" as   
 Magneto and Jean Grey stand against the horror of the   
 Shadow King.    
  
 Then return for Wolverine 100 as the Madripoor Knights   
 reunite in a last, desperate bid to defeat the Shadow King.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Uncanny X-Men #329: Shadowlands Arc

*******************************************************  
We are the X-Writers, we are taking over the world via   
devious and subtle means. Until we succeed in this venture   
we will continue to write non-profit making stories featuring   
characters and locations licensed to those lovely people at   
Marvel, the House of Ideas.  We make no claims to be the   
House of Ideas. We're more a Shed of Afterthoughts. Have   
a nice day. Enjoy your freedom whilst you can.  
Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!  
  
*******************************************************  
    Uncanny X-Men #329 - Innocence and Guilt  
    Written by Andrew Wheeler   
    Edited by Marysia.   
******************************************************  
  
 Running.  Just keep running. He would be there in no time   
if he could just keep going.  He could see nothing, looked   
for nothing, except the way ahead. He wasn't sure when he   
had last run so fast, pushed himself so close to his limits.   
But he had to get there as soon as possible, give her every   
ounce of time he could. If he was right about his suspicions,   
he would need that time. Ahead, it drew near.  At last he   
was there. He saw the grounds, the gate, the front door.  
He managed to halt himself just before running straight into   
Henry McCoy. Hank stretched out his arms to take the   
child.  
   
 'She...' gasped Quicksilver, more breathless than he could   
ever remember being, as much through panic as exhaustion.   
'She... I think she has...'  
  
 'He knows, Pietro.' said his wife, the Inhuman Crystal, as   
she stepped out through the doors. Behind her, in the   
corridor, Pietro could see the bulky figure of the creature   
known as Lockjaw.  
  
 'Take her inside, see what you can do,' insisted Pietro.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Inside the Mansion, Beast gave a heavy sigh. The world   
was falling apart this morning. The radio in the laboratory   
blurted out the latest unfoundable reports on the battle   
being waged in the South Pole and over Britain. He wished   
he could be there.  Being slaughtered alongside his team-  
mates, no doubt. Not a word of it was encouraging. He   
hoped it was all being exaggerated.  But he knew better   
than to hope.  
  
 He placed young Luna in a monstrous crib, a confection of  
lights and wires. The last inhabitant had suffered greatly   
before dying. He would not let that happen again.  
  
 'Well?' asked Pietro.  
  
 'You have to be a little patient, Pietro,' muttered Beast.   
'Just this once.' He was not in a happy mood. 'Alice, run the   
tests would you? See if she has Legacy. I have to go and   
see how our other patient is faring.'  
  
 Beast lumbered into the next room in the infirmary, to   
Gambit's bedside. Gambit was awake and sitting up, but   
was still very woozy.  
  
 'Wha's goin' on?' Gambit asked.  
  
 Beast gave him a withering stare. 'You realise all hell just   
broke loose, do you?' he asked. Gambit, though, had no   
idea. Two nights ago he had vanished, with Sabretooth in   
tow, and been found with a severe concussion. Only now   
had he regained full consciousness. In the intervening time,   
Psylocke had gone to Muir and returned - and lucky for her   
that she did - and Bishop had searched fruitlessly for the   
missing Sabretooth. Storm, Cyclops and Cannonball still   
had not come back from Mojoworld, and most dramatically   
of all the X-Men and Avengers, together with the might   
of Shield, the UN, even Doctor Doom, were facing   
Magneto, Pietro's father, in an intense battle... and losing.   
And then there was Warren, of course...  
  
 - - - -   
Yesterday:  
  
 Charlotte Jones charged out of her apartment, past the   
guard on the door, and down the staircase. The guard tried   
to grab her, but she shook him off. She was going to work.   
No-one could stop her from saving her own little boy, even   
if it put her own life at risk.  
  
 Archangel swept down from the apartment window ahead   
of her and gripped her wrists. He was about to warn her,   
tell her that he and the police were the best people to do   
this. But then he saw her face, the eyes red with agony,   
focused, hard, bitter and determined to carry on.  He   
couldn't stop her, he had no right to stop her. He hadn't the   
strength to stop her.  
  
 She ran on, leaving Warren standing on the sidewalk, too   
resolved to cry again. As she ran, two arms came up   
beneath her shoulders and hoisted her into the air. Her feet   
swept clear of the ground, and the two of them took to the   
sky.  
  
 - - - -  
Today:  
  
 Quicksilver was trembling as he sat by the side of his dear   
Luna. This, he decided, was the worst day of his life. His   
daughter, the daughter he had only recently got to know   
again, had a fatal disease. His father and sister were on   
opposing sides of a raging war that would doubtless effect   
the entire world. His team-mates, according to reports,   
were dead.   
  
 His wife sat by his side, stroking the sleeping Luna's hair.   
Luna had been anaesthetised whilst Dr Yeung performed   
her tests.  Neither one of them wanted to say a word. They   
hadn't said a word since the tests had begun. Blood   
samples, X-rays, scanning, it seemed to go on and on. But   
there couldn't be much doubt.  Hank had only had to take   
one look at the growths upon Luna's leg, barely sprouting   
now, but still horribly familiar, to know without a doubt   
that this child was yet another victim of Legacy. What   
disturbed Hank about this most was that it proved one  
terrible truth. If a child whose DNA could only barely be   
classed as human could contract this disease, anyone could.    
And they were still no closer to a cure.   
  
 Still, Beast could distract himself with some therapy right   
now.  He turned back from the doorway, through which he   
had silently been staring at Luna, and returned to Gambit.  
  
 'Fit to answer a few questions, Le Beau?' asked Beast.  
  
 'I don' much like dat tone, Hank,' replied Gambit as he   
climbed out of the bed.  
  
 'Sit down, you're not going anywhere,' insisted Beast.  
  
 'You think you can stop me?'  
   
 'You think I can't?'  
  
 Gambit paused for a moment. Beast's body filled the door   
frame. He considered how strong Hank was, considered   
how weak he was feeling, and reconsidered his actions. He   
sat down on the bed.  
  
 'Good,' said Beast. 'Now, where to begin?'  
  
 - - - -   
Yesterday:  
  
 They had to begin where it had all begun, back at the   
house where the young mutant known as Anthony had   
slaughtered his family.  Nothing had changed about the   
deathly place. Still a shell, still scrawled with that same   
name, etched all over the walls. But he wasn't here. The   
police had the whole building under surveillance, and he   
hadn't turned up here.  
  
 Charlotte crumbled to her knees as she stared around her.   
She didn't want to imagine what the monster had done to   
her poor boy. She couldn't imagine. Archangel looked in   
vain for clues, because he thought that was what he was   
meant to do, and because he didn't know what else to try.   
He glanced across to Charlotte, and was caught in her glare.   
She seemed to expect him to know what to do next. She   
was relying on him to know what to try.  
  
 But then she looked away. He obviously had no idea. She   
couldn't rely on him. She already *knew* he was   
unreliable.  It was up to her to do the thinking. It was up to   
him to catch the killer. She rose to her feet once more and   
headed for the door.   
  
 If I were Anthony, where would I go? Warren asked   
himself.  Then he realised... he was already there.  
  
 - - - -   
Today:  
  
 'Damn it, Le Beau, the man is a serial killer! A psychopath!   
What the hell did you think you were doing? No, what   
*were* you doing? You've already beaten him up, what   
were you going to do this time, kill him?' raged Beast,   
throwing his huge arms in the air to emphasise every   
sentence. Gambit dodged and ducked with each gesture,   
half sure Beast was trying to hit him.  
  
 'I don't know,' said Gambit pathetically.  
  
 'My dear friend, you must have had some idea, even as   
inebriated as you quite evidently were. You don't go around   
abducting lobotomised murderers on a whim,' said Beast,   
thrusting his face, with those terrifying rows of big white   
teeth, up to Gambit's nose.  
  
 'That's just it, I was drunk,' said Gambit. 'I took Sabretooth  
'cause I was drunk, and angry, and...' he gave up. Beast  
folded his arms, also now half sure he was trying to hit  
Gambit.   
  
 'Elucidate, please,' said Beast in a slow, menace-laden tone.  
  
 'I don't know,' said Gambit again. 'Hey, I'm no school kid,   
McCoy, I don't have to sit here and be questioned by you.'  
He rose to his feet. A giant furry hand slammed into his   
chest and knocked him back onto the bed. 'I need a   
cigarette,'  Gambit complained.  
  
 'No smoking in the mansion,' said Beast at once. 'And   
especially not near sick children.'  
  
 'What sick children?'  
  
 'Don't change the subject.'  
  
 'I didn't change the subject!' insisted Gambit.   
  
 'Fine,' muttered Beast. 'So you won't tell me *why* you   
took Creed, you can at least tell us where he went. We   
found you unconscious in the woods, surrounded by Tarot   
cards, with no Sabretooth. What happened?'  
  
 Gambit *really* wanted a cigarette.   
  
 - - - -    
Yesterday:  
  
 Archangel and Charlotte Jones sat in the police station, her   
reading the case notes from all those years ago, him   
thinking, trying to work out where someone like Anthony   
would go. The boy killed his family when his powers   
manifested themselves, because they were terrified of what   
had happened, The he swore to kill the police team that   
arrested him, because they too didn't treat him like a human   
being.  
   
 And he claimed he wasn't a killer. He claimed he was a   
victim.  His powers controlled him, his powers made him   
kill the people he hated.   
  
 Warren placed a finger at the top of the sheaf of papers in   
Charlotte's hand, and tried to read the page upside down.   
She pulled the page back up, so that he couldn't see it.   
Then he saw the other file, lying on her desk. A report on   
the latest murders.  He picked it up and looked through.   
Pictures of the bodies of the officers and their families, that   
name ripped into their bodies, reports on how each victim   
was found, the circumstances of the crime scene...  
   
 But why had he kidnapped Timmy? All the other victims   
had had their families killed, either with them or separately,   
so why did he kidnap Timmy? Why was Charlotte   
different?  
  
 He stared up at her, but she remained focused on her   
reading.  
  
 - - - -   
Today:  
  
 Gambit stared at his feet as they hung over the edge of the   
bed. He didn't dare look up. Not looking at Beast, he could   
almost believe he wasn't there.  
  
 'Ahem.'  
  
 Almost.  
  
 'Le Beau, I want an answer.'   
  
 'Where's de Professor?' asked Gambit. 'Shouldn't he be   
askin' these questions? Or Storm, or Cyclops. Any o'them.'   
  
 'Not here,' replied Beast. 'I am the senior ranking X-Man in   
the mansion, you will answer to me. What happened.'  
  
 Gambit sighed. Perhaps if he closed his eyes.  
  
 He opened them again when his spine collided with a wall,   
clawed fingers wrapped around his neck, a long, brawny   
arm holding him aloft. 'I have better things to do, Gambit,   
so give me an answer,' he insisted.  
  
 'Ain't you s'posed t'be 'gainst beatin' up on the prisoners?'   
asked Gambit.  
  
 'I'm making an exception,' replied Beast. 'What happened?   
I won't ask again.'  
  
 Gambit considered a witty response, then felt the claws,   
and changed his mind. 'Sinister,' he choked. 'Sinister   
attacked me. He took Creed.  There was nothing I could   
do. He took me by surprise.' Beast let go, dropping Gambit   
to the ground with a thump.  
  
 'Finally,' said Beast. 'We have an answer.'  
  
 - - - -   
Yesterday:  
  
 As ideas went, it wasn't a brilliant one, but it seemed   
appropriate.  The Morlocks were mutants who saw   
themselves as freaks. Anthony was a mutant who felt the   
world saw *him* as a freak. There was a sense of irony to   
the idea that he might have come into the sewers.  
  
 As ideas went, it was a ridiculous one. There was no   
reason to believe Anthony had ever even heard of the   
Morlocks, unless he heard about them from one of the   
other inmates when he was locked up. Charlotte knew they   
wouldn't find him in these foul sewers, but they had   
nowhere else to go. This was their safest bet. She scanned   
the walls with her flashlight, almost wishing to see that   
name somewhere on that sweeping arch. But it wasn't going   
to happen.  
  
 It was cold, it stank, it was dark, every sound echoed   
around the cavernous walls, and the taste of the putrid air   
filled their mouths. They didn't want to be here. Charlotte   
spotted a ladder heading back up to ground level and   
headed towards it.   
  
 Then she heard a splash. Someone had just landed,   
jumped down into the river of waste. She flashed her torch   
around, caught sight of Warren who was also looking about   
him. She slowly returned to his side.  
  
 'I can't seem to get you all to myself, Detective Jones,' said   
a voice.  'So I may have to kill your friend as well.'  
  
 - - - -   
Today:   
  
 Beast left Gambit alone and returned through to the main   
sector of the infirmary where Quicksilver and Crystal   
awaited the results of the initial tests. But even to them the   
truth was quite clear.  
  
 'Doctor McCoy, can you confirm these results for me   
please?' asked Dr Yeung. He warily crossed over to her side   
and reviewed what she had written down. He looked up   
and saw the parents mournfully watching him.  
  
 'Let me make one thing clear,' said Hank. 'These are only   
the initial results. Some of the tests will not come through   
for a while longer.  But from what we've seen so far, I'm   
afraid to say it looks like your daughter does indeed have   
Legacy.'  
  
 Crystal, elemental, Avenger, the woman who had betrayed   
her husband for another man and robbed him of precious   
days with his child, sat frozen. Suddenly she knew, she   
understood what it had meant for him to have missed even   
one moment of Luna's life. For now, it appeared, she was   
to lose her daughter forever.   
  
 Quicksilver, mutant, Avenger, the man who had betrayed   
everyone he knew in the madness of taking a world for   
himself, now felt the world slip away from him, felt every-  
one he held dear leaving him, except for the woman at his   
side. Normally a stoical man who never let any emotional   
weakness show, he was now overcome, and as he began to   
weep into his hands, the two Doctors wondered if they   
could possibly stop what now seemed inevitable.   
  
 - - - -   
Yesterday:  
  
 The light from two torches was all that illuminated him. It   
was difficult to see him clearly, but he looked young.   
Sixteen? Eighteen? Warren couldn't remember how old he   
was supposed to be. There was a little extra light, but not   
enough to make a difference. It came from the boy's hands,   
an orange corona, a smear of flame.  
  
 'I have followed you since you left your house this   
morning,' stated Anthony. 'I wanted you alone, suffering,   
and at every step there were others, not least this man. The   
police, the passers by in the street, the surveillance team at   
the house. I thought I would never have you.  Until you led   
me here.'   
  
 Charlotte reached for her gun.  
  
 'Kill me and you won't know where the brat is,' said   
Anthony. 'I know how it works, I know you can't kill me.'  
  
 'Where is he?' asked Charlotte. 'Have you hurt him?'  
  
 Anthony was silent. He began to step forward through the   
pitch shadow.  His hands were raised. Two hands that   
could slice through anything, disrupting the very matter   
they came in touch with. With these hands he had messily   
decimated all those people, all their families. Charlotte  
was the last.  
  
 'You had to be last,' said Anthony. 'You had to suffer the   
most. It was you that said what the others were thinking. It   
was you that told me what you think I am. You called me a   
freak. A bastard freak, a monster. Those were the words.'  
  
 Archangel cast a look at Charlotte. She noticed, but she   
ignored him. 'You are a freak,' claimed Charlotte. 'I saw   
what you did to your own family, I saw how you treated   
them. If you were a normal human being you couldn't have   
done all that.'  
  
 'I didn't do all that!' screamed Anthony. 'It wasn't me! I   
loved my family, I couldn't hurt them. But my powers drive   
me to it. They manipulate me, force me. I have to do what   
they say.'  
  
 'They don't say anything. It's your own sick mind!' claimed   
Charlotte.  
  
 'No! You have no idea what it means to be like me. You   
don't understand.  Just because my power makes me kill   
doesn't mean *I'm* evil. They are the evil ones, they are the   
ones that cause me pain. Every day they cut into me, burn   
my entire body, rip me apart with the agony, and it's only   
when I use them, only when I let them go, that I'm free, just   
for a moment,' Anthony explained. 'The powers want me to   
use them to hurt those that hate me. If I don't they hurt me.   
And no-one understands.  For all these years I've been   
locked away, unable to find release. No one came to help,   
no one asked why I screamed. Because you call me freak,   
and you call me monster, and you prefer not to face what I   
really am. You prefer not to think of ME as the victim!'  
  
 He stepped forward in a lurch, reaching for Charlotte. In a   
flash of steely light, two metal wings rose from Archangel's   
back. With perfect symmetry they unfurled, arched into the   
air, caved around Warren's body. Then one wing broke the   
pattern and stretched out, swatting Anthony away, back   
into the shadows.  
  
 'You're not the only one who has suffered, Anthony,'   
replied Warren.  'I know how difficult it can be to control   
your powers. Come with us, I'm sure we can find you help.'  
  
 'I'm not falling for that,' claimed Anthony. 'Detective, let   
me take your life. Then I will tell him where to find the   
boy.'  
  
 Charlotte didn't know what to do. She again avoided   
looking at Warren. He would play no part in her decision.   
  
 'Detective. You won't find him without me. Not where he's   
gone.'  
   
 Charlotte rested her torch in the mire at her feet, and   
stepped towards the shadows. Warren pointed his torch   
after her.  
  
 'Don't do it, Charlotte. I can't let you die,' insisted Warren.  
  
 'It's not your choice, Warren. You lost whatever influence   
you had on me when you ended our relationship without   
even telling me. You find Timmy, Warren, and you make   
sure he's okay.'  
  
 Anthony appeared at Charlotte's side, his hands grabbed   
her arms and began to burn into them. 'I can tell you where   
the boy is,' said Anthony.  'In little pieces, in a waste bin   
somewhere in this fine city.'  
  
 Charlotte gave out a scream, either through pain or grief.   
Archangel dropped his torch and it's light bounced from the   
two great wings as they shot forward, unleashing a pair of   
honed blades into the darkness.  Anthony gave a scream,   
then there was the sound of a shot. Warren picked up the   
torch again. Charlotte stood, smoking gun in hand, her  
arms bleeding, over the body of the mutant Anthony, His   
own arms had been sliced clean off by Archangel's blades.  
  
 'How did you hit him so accurately?' asked Charlotte,   
momentarily stunned.  
  
 'It was the wings,' replied Warren. 'They do what I want   
them to do.'  He passed her his torch, and retrieved hers   
from the sludge. 'You can find your way back, can you?'  
  
 'What do you mean? Where are you going? Don't leave   
me, Warren.  He's killed my little boy. You can't leave me   
here on my own. In the dark,' she wept. He turned and   
walked away. 'Warren! What are you doing?'   
  
 'I thought you understood, Charlotte. I thought you of all   
people were sympathetic. But you judged that boy, you   
refused to help him. If you had listened, if you had tried to   
understand that he was in pain, that his powers were   
torturing him, he might never have killed again, not with the   
right help.'  
  
 'No!' screamed Charlotte. 'He was a monster, Warren. He   
was a freak!'  
  
 'He was a victim, Charlotte.' replied Archangel,   
disappearing into the shadows.  
  
 - - - -    
Today.  
  
 Hank made his way upstairs, up to Warren's room. The   
events of yesterday had shaken him up, disturbed him.   
Even those he might trust, might love, could turn out to   
be... to be the monsters, the people who weren't willing to   
listen. As Hank had heard the story, the boy hadn't been   
innocent of his crimes. But he wasn't the only one who   
should bear the guilt of those later murders. Hank was   
taking Warren something to eat, and some company. It   
wasn't healthy to brood, and there were other crises in the   
world to deal with.   
  
 Then, as he reached the top of the stairs, he heard a voice   
cry 'We're back!' Unmistakably Lila Cheney. Beast left the   
tray on the landing and bounded downstairs to greet the   
returning quartet.  
  
 'Hank! Anything happen whilst we were gone? You missed   
a great concert. Had to do it in the open air, of course, after   
what happ...'  but Scott was cut off simply by the look of   
urgency on Hank's face.   
  
 'What's happened?' asked Scott.  
  
 'Don't get comfortable. You may be off again soon.'   
claimed Beast.  
  
  To Be Continued...  
  
*******************************************************   
See the final instalments of the thrilling Shadow King story   
in  X-Men and Wolverine before coming back here to see   
the aftermath, and learn just what has become of Xavier's   
Dream...  
*******************************************************  
  



	16. Wolverine #99: Shadowlands Arc

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group producing stories   
involving characters belonging to Marvel Entertainments Group. We do   
not have their permission to use these characters.  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------  
Wolverine #99 -Adamantium Bound (6 of 7)  
"Tidings of War"  
Writer: JAC Delaney  
Editor in Chief: Marysia   
  
  
Prologue [A lab of some sort]  
  
    Wolverine screamed, a cry born of pure and   
unadulterated agony as the bonding process began its final   
stage.  The metal in his blood was causing his mind to   
wander and hallucinate, heavy metal poisoning in the most   
literal sense.  He could see the tall figure with the glowing   
eyes, already recovered from his mysterious wounds,   
pacing across the chamber and muttering.  Visions floated   
through his head, he remembered a Japanese noblewoman   
he loved and a wild Ronin with whom he ran... and a pretty   
red head who would always hold a special place in his   
heart.  When he left the service of Canada so long ago who   
would have believed that he would have found a home and   
a family.  Who would have believed that the feral berserker   
would find honour and a cause?  He extended his claws and   
saw adamantium honed to a razor keen edge.  He struggled   
in his restraints, this was being done so differently from   
before.  One way of the other he would be out of this   
blasted, stinking cage, and then he would get some blood   
on his claws!  
  
  
Main [Savage Land]  
  
    Rogue stirred on the soft jungle floor.  The first   
thing she saw was the tall cloaked figure of the Master of   
Magnetism, his red cloak billowing in the cool jungle   
breeze.  As she watched she saw Jean Grey approaching   
him, her whole body radiating a sense of danger and elation   
in a confusing mixture.  No longer was she the unassuming   
wife of Cyclops.  She had let the wild side she had so long   
suppressed run free.  Rogue suppressed a shudder as she   
couldn't help comparing them to a couple of predators, as if   
they were lean and hungry wolves on the hunt.    
  
    She heard their voices drifting into her earshot on   
the soft evening breeze,  "...so as far as I can tell Thor is   
beyond help.  As for the rest, Natasha is hurt badly and   
Stark is useless without his armour.  Captain America   
would only get in the way of what has to be done."    
  
    "I concur.  What about Rogue?"  
  
    "She has passed out somewhere, she wasn't   
seriously hurt and yet she collapsed like a house of cards.    
She will only get in the way, we do not need her Magnus!"  
  
    "Still, she fought valiantly and she was apparently   
poisoned earlier..."   
  
    "Be realistic.  Even if she were in top notch shape   
she would be a liability tonight."  
  
    "I disagree.  She is a lot tougher than you think   
Jean.  In any case, I suspect she will do what she wishes in   
this.  I am tired of waiting.  I say we go in after dark."  
  
    "It seems the best plan.  He is calling his people   
together.  We can take care of the whole sick mess at   
once."  
  
    "Tell me Jean, when you became an X-Man did it   
ever once occur to you the price you would pay for it?"  
  
    "No.  But it doesn't keep me from going on.  What   
is this talk, going soft old man?"  
  
    "Just wondering... wondering if maybe there wasn't   
a better way... if I had tried hard enough maybe, just   
maybe, I could have made a difference.  Won a victory that   
wasn't purchased in blood and hatred.  I kill and kill and the   
hatred only gets stronger.  Maybe I am just tired of death   
and dying.  I tried to build a refuge in the sky, a place   
where my people would be safe but my oldest friend led   
those who are dear to me in an attempt to murder me.    
Perhaps the failure was mine, if I had  begun this way they   
might trusted me more... seen my vision for what it was...   
what it still is!"  
  
    "Thoughts like that will get you killed.  What are   
you going to do, try to reason with HIM?  With the lord of   
shadows himself!  Stop deluding yourself, Magnus.    
Tonight we are going to have to be at our absolute best and   
even then I fear for our chances.  Thoughts like this will   
only make you hesitate, be merciful when you should   
strike"  
  
    "Is this really Jean Grey talking?"  
  
    "I haven't lost my sense of compassion or my   
dream, unlike you!  I just realise what we are up against,   
even Charles struck without mercy when he faced the   
Shadow King.  We are going to have to do the same if any   
of us are to survive."  
  
    "You aren't expecting to come back are you."  
  
    "No, are you?"  
  
    "It is as good an ending as any."  
  
    Rogue watched them; perched on the hilltop like a   
pair of eagles.  Eyes not human but blazing pools of energy   
and power; two people each like a force of nature.    
Magnus' helmet gleamed and Jeans' hair was painted scarlet   
by the setting sun.  They stood there for a long while,   
talking; two elemental forces, proud as Lucifer, and as   
unstoppable as the wind.  She would remember them this   
way later on, when both were just shadows fading away   
from this life, she would remember this as the pinnacle of   
their powers and the moment when both stood forth as true   
heroes.  She would remember and she would weep for   
what was lost.  
  
  
[Lab]  
  
    The dark figure of Apocalypse led the young man   
into the laboratory where Wolverine, Doom and Wanda   
were bound.  The young man glanced around with a   
feverish eagerness.  You could sense the gloating triumph in   
his voice.  He saw Doom and broke into a broad grin.  His   
handsome gypsy face was nearly a precise duplicate of a   
young Victor von Doom.  
  
    "Hello Father."  
  
    "You are no son of mine!"  
  
    "On the contrary!  It has now been conclusively   
proven that I am your child.  You might like to know that   
this has enabled me to stage a mild coup in the day or so in   
which you have been gone.  Latvaria is MINE!  Just   
compensation for all that you did to me and my mother."    
The boy's words spun a web of charisma, seductive beyond   
the level to which the best con-man, the most fervent   
dictator, could go.  
  
    Doom merely glared.   
  
    "So who is this pretty wench Apocalypse?" he said   
with a grin on his face, letting his hand wander across   
Wandas' bare skin.  "What did she do to deserve the   
sentence of being confined into a room with my egomanic   
father and a furry little berserker"  
  
    "Get your hands off me!" Wanda spat.  
  
    Doom continued to glare.  
  
    Wolverine growled.  
  
    Apocalypse backhanded Flynn sending him   
tumbling into a bank of equipment.  "The girl needed to be   
stripped of age and power so that a Legacy could come to   
full fruition.  As for the Berserker, he is ten times the man   
you will ever be!"  Flynn cowered for a moment, expecting   
another blow.  Doom's eyes radiated contempt.  "I have   
prepared your father's armour for your use.  Learn it well   
and become strong.  Rule Latvaria well and ensure that you   
have culled the weak from the flock, for the day is coming   
when expendables will be sorely needed.  Go!  Take your   
rightful place as a ruler and bother me no more!"  Without   
further encouragement Flynn fled from the room.  
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    The old man leaned on his staff, his grizzled face   
surveying all that was in front of him.  A couple of large   
wolves roamed nearby and a couple of ravens croaked a   
greeting to the dying sun.  Beside him was a young   
Cheyenne woman, her black hair jutting from underneath a   
feathered helm.  The old man watched the two figures in   
front of him, one a cripple in a makeshift stretcher, the   
other a blonde woman with a truly disgusting gut wound   
and crippled limbs bound by braces.  The girl was groaning   
with the effort of moving the man across the rugged terrain.  
  
    "Xavier!" the helmed woman whispered.  
  
    "That is all in your past Valkyrie!  When you   
bonded a horse that made you one of mine forever.  I am   
jealous and never willingly part with my own.  You should   
have realised this before when you were cast forth from my   
heaven.  Let him pass."  
  
    "He will die unless we help him.  I am almost   
certain of it!"  
  
    "And what concern of ours is it.  He will die in   
battle, gloriously as he attempts to fend off the predators   
that are trailing him.  Neither he nor the girl can fight them   
off."  
  
    "Predators?"  
  
    "My wolves spotted them a while ago."  
  
    "We have to help them!"  The blonde girl stared in   
sudden surprise hearing the outburst.  Dani could see red   
lines tattooed on her face.    
  
    "I send my Valkyries back to strengthen my realm,   
not to weaken it.  Know your place girl.  I am the betrayer   
of warriors, the grim gallows god, the black hearted thief   
who comes in the night, lord of war, terrible wolf god and   
raven lord.  Dare you stand against me?"  
  
    "Then why are you going to save your son?  I am   
Danielle Moonstar of the Cheyenne and we bow to   
nobody, grim god.  I have sworn my allegiance to you but I   
will not stand aside and watch my friends perish,"  she   
looked again, "even if one of them isn't really a friend."  
  
    The tall man with the broad brimmed hat and   
ragged cloak laughed.  One of his eyes was gone and only a   
void remained where once had been an orb.  "Very well   
daughter of the Cheyenne.  If you breed half as true as   
Brunhilda did many fine warriors will stand in my halls for   
the coming of the end.  Save them if you can dear child, for   
if you win then maybe you will bring glory to my name.  If   
you fail I will have the souls of warriors this night."    
  
    As Dani leapt towards the professor, nocking an   
arrow to her bow, the old god laughed , a sharp mocking   
laugh.  As blood began to spray he watched with a   
frightening intensity and when it was over he walked away   
muttering to himself about stubborn Valkyries and the   
doom he awaited at the hands of Fenris.    
  
  
[Lab]  
  
    Apocalypse surveyed the results of his work on   
Wolverine, the bonding had been much faster this time and   
the cognitive damage nearly negligible.  He would show   
Sinister who had chosen better, whose son was more fit.    
He thought about Flynn, the boy was a cretin, no doubt   
about that.  All of the bad attributes of his father and none   
of the redeeming ones that had made Doom so great.  But   
he was a mutant with an impressive power to be sure and   
Victor von Doom had once been much the same.  Either   
he would grow into his power and become one of the   
strong or it would destroy him.  Either would be a victory.  
  
    Wanda was a problem of sorts, he had regressed her   
in age from her early thirties to her late twenties, but each   
and every treatment had been punishingly difficult.  She   
should have a teenager by now, just the right age to be   
moulded into a herald of his.  Time to undo all of that   
weakness she had allowed into her character.  But some-  
thing was blocking him, something was giving her the   
strength to resist.  Her mystic abilities would be useless   
without an anchor and who would be serving as this?  And   
her memories, absolutely no progress was being made   
there.  He had operated on her for hours, her shrieks of   
agony flooding his laboratory, and still had no results.    
Perhaps feeding her to that abortion from a damned and   
doomed reality would be for the best.  That Holocaust   
thought he could take his place amused him.  The clumsy   
attempt of sabotage on his tomb was even funnier.  They   
bred them weak minded in that alternate reality.    
  
    Speaking of that, he was certain now that the edge   
over Sinister he had been seeking for so long was at hand.    
Holocausts' memories had spoken of a reality where   
experimentation on mutants had gone much further than in   
this one.  And now it appeared one of the scientists from   
that reality might be loose in this one.  He smiled.  Essex   
would pay for his betrayal so long ago, so many years but   
still remembered, and vengeance, well it was a dish best   
served cold; and this would be stone cold.  He laughed and   
his laughter echoed throughout his base.  His second tomb;   
where nobody would ever have expected it.  
  
  
[Saurons' Citadel]  
  
    Soon we will meet Lord of the Fatal Attraction,   
once more cross swords in the astral plane.  You are but the   
merest novice, a child playing at a man's game.  You beat   
me on your home ground, but what will happen when you   
try to fight me in MY realm.  Do you think little Jeanie will   
help you in the least, she is more than half mine already and   
a part of her longs to be what she was.    
  
    As for Rogue, do you think that she will have any   
chance against me, she fell so easily last time.  What makes   
you think this will be any different.  Xavier is gone, either   
dead or he has left this god-forsaken land, as soon will I.  I   
have done all that I have wanted to and my new host is   
ready, poor little man, his sense of morality kept him from   
being great when he could have been... but then, with me   
in charge, he will dare anything.  And maybe, just maybe,   
the stupidest of the Externals will give what I have wished   
for so long.  
  
    You are all alone Magneto, and when we meet   
again you will be all alone.  Twice before you have denied   
me but the third time's the charmer.  I will face you and   
then, at long last, I shall destroy you.  In the end you will   
die as you have always lived, alone and without friends.    
  
  
[Savage Land]  
  
    The tall, ragged figure walked into the makeshift   
camp, to the immense surprise of Jean who had not seen a   
trace of him in his approach.  She whirled, calling up power   
that even he had not thought to see again.  He smiled to   
himself, knowing her inevitable fate when she used it at last   
to its full potential.  He stared at the figure who rose up to   
stand next to her.  Being consumed by a crippling virus the   
Master of Magnetism would soon die helpless in a hospital   
bed; unless he died in battle.    
  
    "Who are you and what do you want?" Magneto   
demanded, steel coiled around the cloaked figure, iron   
ripped from the virgin earth.    
  
    "I have come for my son," the figure replied.  
  
    "It's not possible..." Jean began.  
  
    "Father..." groaned a weak Thor.  The ragged figure   
stepped forth as the iron melted away.  He picked up the   
torn figure of his favourite son and stared at him.    
  
    "Stay," Magneto cried, "with your help we could   
almost certainly overcome the Shadow King..."  
  
    "I know."  Then the stranger vanished taking Thor   
with him.  In the sky above a raven crowed.  A sound of   
approaching destiny, as dark and baleful as the old god who   
had just left.  
  
  
[Lab]  
  
    Apocalypse released Wolverine's limp form from his   
restraints.  The feral Canadian suddenly leapt forth from   
the contraption that had been holding him.  His eyes   
glowed with a berserkers fury.  "I know who you are, bub   
an' you stopped me from savin' a lady that I care about.    
I figure after I carve ya into little pieces you an' I will be   
about even on that score."  
  
    "Magnificent.  Fight me.  Show me how strong you   
are."  Apocalypse was pleased.  The fight was not gone   
from his son and it was no accident that he was placed into   
the same room as the other two captives.  He had taken the   
edge from Wanda that could have cured her father of his   
lethal illness and he had found a replacement for Doom   
who was not as... limited in his genetic potential.  
  
    "Sorry bub but I've learned ta fight smart, not   
stupid!"  He dodged past outstretched arms, dove and   
rolled, and ended up right next to Wanda and Doom.    
Claws popped and restraints were severed.  Apocalypse   
grabbed Logan from behind and threw him against a wall,   
hard.  His cold eyes shone with admiration.  This was what   
he had hoped against hope would happened.  Let them   
show him if they were worthy to escape.  
  
    Doom unleashed a bolt of mystical energy, a spell   
he had been generating since his captivity began.  It hit   
Apocalypse like a sledgehammer and sent him flying back-  
wards.  He tried to rise but slipped.  Wanda smirked.  Then   
Logan was on top of him, adamantium claws tearing into   
his composite body.  Apocalypse suddenly grew deadly   
wings and slashed into Wolverine but they weren't strong   
enough to slice through adamantium bones.    
  
    "Wait Doom," Wanda cried seeing the dictator   
trying to take a discrete exit.  "We can't just leave him   
here."  He looked at her and took several additional strides   
to pick up a weapon of some sort.  "We aren't leaving him,   
Doom pays his debts!"  Dr. Doom turned and fired, the   
energy bolt cutting deeply into Apocalypse.  "Come on you   
fool.  We must leave NOW.  This is the last chance.  When   
he recovers from the bolt I hit him with we are all dead!"  
  
    "Then go.  Me, I got business here."  Wolverine   
placed his fists at the base of Apocalypse's head.  "Say   
goodnight bub!"  SNICKT.  Six claws bored in   
Apocalypse's skull.  Only one more tomb, he thought, as   
death overtook him and his spirit was cut lose into the void.    
Never have I been on such a slender margin.  Never have I   
come so close to defeat.  But I rise more powerful from the   
grave and I will have need of such power.  Holocaust, you,   
my bastard son from another reality, will now be tested as   
to your fitness.  Will you be able to take my place by force   
and do what has been asked of you?  Or will you fall before   
me when I rise once again?  As for my true son, my only   
true son, you did what my other son could not.  You rose   
forth and slew the previous generation and proved your   
fitness to succeed us.    
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier, Second Wave of UN forces]  
  
    Colonel Vashkin was feeling especially good today.    
It wasn't often that things worked out this way but today   
was a good day.  The completely unworkable command   
arrangement on the first wave had lead to disaster and now   
he stood to gain all the credit for bailing the UN out of this   
mess.  He lit a cigar and hummed softly to himself.  Even   
better were the three captives SHIELD had just taken,   
mutants all of them.  One way or the other they would   
solve a major problem he had.  
  
    He walked down the corridor saluting the odd   
sentry.  He entered a relatively comfortable set of chambers   
that contained an annoyed man trying to break through the   
psionic baffles.  Let him try, not even he could do it.  The   
other two were already in holding cells, known terrorists, if   
Xavier was reluctant then a couple of spontaneous   
executions of known criminals (one MLF, one Acolyte)   
might inspire him.    
  
    "Hello Professor Xavier.  We have a great deal to   
talk about..."   
  
  
[Lab]  
  
    The trio of refugees reached the teleportation centre   
in a rush.  Doom scanned the controls feverishly.    
Holocaust would be here momentarily and he didn't have   
the means to deal with him.  Not here and not now.  They   
had had every lucky break you could imagine.  A hex witch   
could be a valuable ally.  Still he cursed the fates that   
Apocalypse had planned for this.  Almost as if he had   
expected to fall to Wolverine.  
  
    "Set the controls for the Savage Land," Wolverine   
growled. "I've got some friends who need serious bailing   
out down there!"  
  
    "Very well."  Wolverine vanished in a blaze of light.    
Doom stepped onto the platform and was surprised when   
Wanda stepped off her circle and unto his.  Her nearly   
naked body was flat against his.    
  
    "I know you aren't going to the Savage Land,   
whatever the power source you are seeking it has moved   
quite far away from there.  You were there for me when   
Apocalypse tried to take everything from me: my mind,   
my powers, my soul.  Where ever you are going I will help   
you."  
  
    They vanished in a flash of light as Holocaust broke   
down the door with a single blow of his mighty fist.  He   
stared about the room in rage.  Then he saw the co-  
ordinates on the teleporter.  Slowly rage left him and he   
began to laugh.  One way or another, one of his enemies   
was going to fall today. <See X-Men #49 for more   
details>.  Perfect!  Let them fight and the strongest would   
survive!  
  
    I am the only one truly fit to succeed you father.    
That bastard Logan will fall and you will see that you have   
only one true son.  I have captured your plans and I know   
what you plot with Sinister, but it will be Holocaust who   
destroys the X-Men and not Apocalypse.  I didn't know you   
had a second tomb but I have ensured that you will never   
use this one.  Sugarman too shall not evade me for long.    
And then, then I will at last have McCoy in my grasp.  All   
who would stand against me shall die.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    "You are utterly mad Vashkin!  What makes you   
think that I would ever agree to anything of the sort!"  
  
    "I am a pragmatic man and I come from a   
pragmatic country.  Russia breeds us that way.  You are an   
idealist but the world has had enough of idealists.  Of   
people who seek to change the world.  People like yourself.    
Help me and I will ensure that you survive to pursue your   
foolish dream.  Cross me and I will begin the executions   
now.  Remember, I had the crew draw up three firing   
squads."  
  
    "What do you hope to gain?"  
  
    "Power, my dear professor, power.  The Shadow   
King is the greatest menace I know of, but in the long run   
he might be less dangerous than I had dreamed.  We are at   
the dawn of a brave new world when the power of   
technology is overshadowed by the dawn of Homo   
Superior.  You and your kind are a resource, to be used   
and exploited like any other.  Nuclear Weapons are out-  
dated when Havok can do the same amount of damage   
in a much more controlled manner."  
  
    "So what do you have against Magneto?  If we can   
free him from the Shadow King's control then he isn't a   
threat..."  
  
    "Do you really believe that Xavier?  Grow up.  He   
is an idealist and one who has never given up.  When he   
started he did it all wrong and thus could be discounted.    
But he has grown wise and he was always too smart for his   
own good.  He is too strong willed to be controlled and too   
impassioned to see the realities of the situation.  In short,   
unlike you, he cannot be easily corrupted.  What's wrong   
Xavier?  Didn't you try to murder him yourself already?"  
  
    "I just don't want to kill Jean as well.  She has   
always stood by my side, believed in my dream..."  
  
    "So you don't mind murder?  Just a little selective.  I   
knew you had it in you dear professor, I knew it.  I can   
accommodate this easily..."  
   
  
Epilogue  [Savage Land]  
  
    Magneto looked out into the vast unknown.  His   
cloak fluttered in the wind like a banner of war.  The sun   
had finally set and this was the time that they had chosen to   
go forth and do battle with the Shadow King.  He thought   
back on his life; the horror and the tragedy and felt a sense   
of satisfaction.  For, whatever else could be said, the path   
of his life ran true.  Here, at the end of his life, it was scant   
comfort.  But it was something.  All he had to do was steel   
himself for one last fight, one last encounter with the   
Shadow King.  Then it would all be over and he could rest   
at last.  The disease slowly killing him would leave him with   
no other choice.    
  
    He turned to Jean. "So, is she coming with us?"  
  
    "Yes."  
  
    He was taken aback for a second when, without any   
sort of warning a grim Rogue came flying through the   
surrounding foliage and landed in front of him.  She stared   
at her companions and wondered just why she had agreed   
to this.  If they had waited there was a good chance several   
of the others could help or that they could locate Professor   
Xavier...  
  
    "I have been scanning for him for several minutes   
now.  His mental signature is missing as if..."  
  
    "Get your slimy paws outta mah mind Phoenix.    
What is up w'th you anyway, ya seem really different an'   
ya are acting like... like..."  
  
    "Like what Rogue, like what?"  Phoenix stared at   
Rogue, a glowing intensity in her eyes.    
  
    "We don't have time for this!"  Magneto stormed.   
"If you cannot be civil to each other don't be, but the   
enemy is out there not among us.  We have to work   
together..."  As he says it he knows it is a lie. The Shadow   
King will take what is worst in each of us and turn it against   
ourselves, he realised.  For a moment he is paralysed by the   
dim memory of the small camp of Auschwitz and the sick   
feeling of horror that it still holds for him.  He wonders,   
will it be enough to beat him back?  Will we ever truly   
destroy him, ever defeat him?  Or are we already all   
doomed?  Can evil ever truly die or does it remain forever   
in the heart of man?  
  
    Rogue thinks for a moment.  "Ah'm not so sure th't   
the enemy is out there Magnus, not at all..."  Then she joins   
the others in their desperate flight towards an uncertain   
future.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------  
Be here for X-Men #50 'No Price too High" as Magneto   
and Jean Grey stand against the horror of the Shadow   
King, and the return of the Phoenix!  
  
Then return for Wolverine 100 as the Madripoor Knights   
reunite in a last, desperate bid to defeat the Shadow King.    
X-men vs. Magneto.


	17. X-Men #49: Shadowlands Arc

X-Men #49  "A Sword out of Legend"  
Writer: JAC Delaney  
Assistant Editor: Elizabeth Celeste   
Dialogue Enhancement: Marysia  
Editor in Chief: Marysia   
  
  
[Prologue: The Dark Ages]  
  
    The two opposing forces stood far apart, banners   
from both sides fluttered in the wind.  It was the sundown   
of a dream; a dream of England united and the rule of law.    
The Roman Peace, the Pax Romana,  had departed and the   
land had been ravaged by hordes from across the sea,   
savage Angles and Saxons.  The Britons had united under   
the Banner of the Dragon for 3 generations.  First under   
bloodthirsty Uther and then under indecisive Arthur.  Now   
charismatic and brave Mordred dared challenge his father's   
rule.  After all, the kingdom had been brought to the edge   
of ruin by his mad quest for vengeance against Lancelot.    
Arthur's last great lieutenant, Gawaine, had died in single   
combat with the man who had once been Arthur's greatest   
friend- Lancelot.  Arthur's army was larger but it knew the   
sting of defeat and felt the ebbing of time running against   
them.  
  
    It seemed at the moment that peace might prevail   
instead, as the two armies faced each other at last.  Arthur   
strode forth carrying his sixty-odd years well but he was   
yesterday's news.  Mordred would be king in all but name   
after this.  It seemed that Arthur's oldest son,  the bastard   
child of incest, would be king after all.  
  
    And then an adder struck, biting a soldier in the   
ankle.  He screamed in pain as he felt the venom coursing   
through his veins.  Maddened by his own impending death   
and seeking vengeance on the cold reptile he drew his   
blade.  It does not matter which army it was, merely that   
both sides saw steel flash, and peace dissolved into the   
screaming clash of swords.  
  
    One last time Excalibur flashed in the morning sun   
and a king fell... and a dream died.  
  
  
[Industrial England]  
  
    Paris Bennet tore into the masonic temple, his eyes   
blazing with fire and righteous fury in his veins.  He stared   
at the dark form of his enemy and the three who served   
him.  "I beat you once," he howled, a cry born of   
desperation more than anything else.  The few followers   
who still held to his name and his cause formed a tight knot   
behind him.  
  
    "That was six hundred years ago Bennet," the dark   
figure reminded him. "I am greater now and I will be   
greater still."  His acolytes turned.  Bennet could see them   
all, God how he had been blind.  But then crying to God   
was an option no longer open to him, it had not been for   
hundreds of years.  He glared; Nathaniel Essex, Cynthia   
Bennet, and Jonathan Hawkwood; how had he failed to   
suspect them.  He stared his last living descendant in the   
eyes, crushed at her betrayal.  Last living descendant since   
this morning at least when she had betrayed all for the   
demon of the pit.  As he had done so long ago.  As his   
followers fell in a orgy of blood and fury, he drew the blade   
the lady had given him so long ago.    
  
    One last time Excalibur flashed in the depths and   
the darkness as a demon fell and a dream died.  
  
   
[The Present Day]  
  
    They stood before the Air Marshall as he explained   
the situation and demonstrated how few options Air   
Command had to deal with the impending threat from the   
Acolytes of Magneto.  So few, in such a desperate hour,   
against a foe who would not be stopped easily.  Brian   
Braddock could not help but remember a similar story   
during England's darkest days.  That come to be known as   
their finest hour. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to show   
that England was not weaker since but that there were still   
heroes willing to pay any price to keep her safe.  The small   
band of men and women who would be heroes were   
Captain Britain, Meggan, Shadowcat, Nightcrawler and   
Douglock.  Across from them were Century and Spider-  
woman, two lone members of the once proud Avengers.    
The military types talked and they half listened as a   
juggernaut approached Britain.  It had struck without   
warning and two towns had died in atomic fire.  Not a   
quick death, they had used Neutron bombs.  Meggan was   
especially affected by the scenes of horror on the monitor.    
Nobody was dead yet, but thousands wanted to be, just to   
stop the pain.  That more had not followed already was a   
sign that this was an act of terror as much as an execution.  
  
    "I don't think we can learn anything more by talking   
about this.  It is obvious that Magneto has gone completely   
insane and talking about it won't stop a shipload of his   
followers from destroying Great Britain," the Captain   
declared. "Century, can you teleport us aboard?"  
  
    "As you wish Captain."  They filed towards him,   
grim and humourless as doom approached their fair land.    
One in particular wondered if an acolyte by the name of   
Peter Rasputin was on this ship and what she would say to   
him.    
  
    One last time Excalibur flashed into the void as a   
man who would be a god fell and a dream stood on the   
edge of extinction.  
  
  
Main [Deep Space]  
  
    Prosh extended his sensors forth.  The planet was   
scarred by two series of nuclear detonations.  The one in   
the south polar region was by far the larger and more   
damaging.  Nearly 100 megatons, it had literally pulverised   
a mountain when it went off.  Closer examination showed   
the trace residue of anti-matter, not a true nuclear warhead   
at all.  The other two were both on a large island in the   
northern hemisphere.  They were in the half kiloton range,   
having hit small population centres.  The dead were   
negligible now, but the death toll would be in the thousands   
eventually.  The Earth simply didn't have the technology to   
treat this type of damage.  If the ship that had launched   
them kept coming it was likely to lead to more such point-  
less deaths, and that Prosh would not abide.    
  
    Prosh was once the Ship of X-Factor.  In an   
alternate future it had gone on to become the sentient   
Professor of Greymalkin.  Now it hovered over the world it   
had been sent to watch so long ago.  Then it began to   
slowly descend.  As Prosh it would slowly but surely kill the   
man named Cable.  It was time to take a new form and   
begin once again.  
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    The wars that ravaged Britain were slowly coming   
to a close.  Uther Pendragon had died and the land was   
without a king.  Raiders ravaged the shores and German   
invaders took British land for their own.  The Britons were   
disorganised and easy prey for the ferocious raiders.  But a   
King had come and soon he would unify all of the isles   
beneath the dragon banner.    
  
    Arthur Pendragon had come at last.  
  
  
[The Middle Ages]  
  
    Paris Bennet watched the dead being carried from   
the makeshift hospitals.  Plague ravaged the land and men   
cried that the apocalypse had come.  How right they were.   
  
    He strode through the grimy streets of London.    
They were  filled with the stench of death and the wailing   
of mourners.  He had at last learned that this was no   
accident of nature, the coming of this plague had been   
engineered to reshape the face of the civilised world by a   
man whose soul was black as the pit.    
  
    He had been given the option to serve this force of   
nature but had declined.  He had been born a sorcerer, with   
powers that lesser men only dreamt of, and his blood was   
noble.  He would stand against this creature, this being of   
metal and fire, even if it took his soul.  Little did he realise   
the price of victory would truly be this high.  
  
    Exodus had arrived.  
  
  
[The Present - Battle Carrier Freedom]  
  
    Exodus watched the monitors with a smile of   
gloating satisfaction.  Distract the English, make them think   
the battle was about destroying their cities when the true   
target lay to the north.  As if they could do anything about   
this anyway.  The ship was far beyond the means of the   
Royal Air Force to defeat and he was able to shield it   
with his own awesome powers.  The fools were doomed.    
He was almost able to forget the reason he chose those two   
towns to be incinerated, the dark tragedy that had occurred   
so long ago.  
  
    He ran through the minds of his crew, the acolytes   
of Magneto.  For a second he remembered acolytes of a   
different sort from long ago but he brushed the thought   
away.  There was no relation.  Unuscione was the only   
acolyte on the bridge.  She was tightly focused on piloting   
the ship.  Above he could sense Colossus guarding the   
weapons centre.  The boy had claimed to be a man of   
peace, what a farce.  He had killed as easily as any of them.    
Frenzy and Kleinstock stood outside the bridge doors,   
peering in at odd moments as the ship headed towards it's   
target.  Skids was above on the observation deck.  This was   
going to be too easy.  
  
    Then, with a flash there were seven figures on the   
bridge.  Excalibur had finally arrived.  
  
  
[Shadowcat]  
  
    The first thing I did was to phase up through the   
ceiling while Exodus stood there speechless.  I hated to   
leave my friends behind but all of the acolytes were there   
(except for Peter and Skids who really weren't anything of   
the kind, don'tcha know).  I needed to disable the weapons   
systems of the ship as quickly as possible.  Sometimes it   
comes in handy being a ninja-computer genius-mutant   
phaser.  This was one of those times.  
  
  
[Nightcrawler]  
  
    Exodus was just sitting there with a silly look on his   
face so I figured I'd better help him out.  I mean what else   
are fuzzy elf teleporters for?  Of course he might debate my   
notion of help but you sure can't please everybody, can   
you?  I must admit, if the look on his face when we   
appeared was priceless you should have seen the look he   
gave me after I knocked him out of that fancy chair.  Of   
course that's when things really heated up.  
  
  
[Meggan]  
  
    I felt it throbbing through me.  Pure elemental evil   
and not just one type.  One was the feeling of something   
hanging over everything, gloating at our pain.  The second   
came from the dark haired man in the fancy clothes, a deep   
and ancient evil.  I wanted so badly to run and hide and go   
far away.  I grabbed Brian to protect him and he shoved me   
away.  I fell sobbing to the floor.  If you had felt what I felt   
you would have done the same.  
  
  
[Douglock]  
  
    This unit wasn't really sure why they had brought it   
along.  It stepped towards the person at the controls, they   
could hardly work if they were infiltrated by its prog-  
ramming and turned off.  She turned and this unit saw a   
beautiful face framed by soft brown hair.  But there was a   
terrible coldness in the eyes that spoke of deep hatred and   
bigotry.  It should have done something at once but it was   
reminded of others and paused momentarily.    
  
    But then an invisible cocoon wrapped itself around   
this unit and began to squeeze harder and harder.  It heard   
something about it being a shame to kill it this young.  It   
felt fear.  It couldn't end like this could it?  
  
  
[Captain Britain]  
  
    We ported onto the Bridge exactly as I had planned.    
That's when everything began to fall apart.  Kitty, or should   
I be saying Kate now, did fine.  She did as she was told.    
The rest just fell apart on me.  Meggan collapsed on me   
sobbing and shifting shapes in an uncontrolled fashion,   
blocking my ability to get at Exodus.  The rest can pretty   
much be blamed on this.  
  
    I shoved her aside, I would deal with this later when   
we had more time and flung myself against Exodus.  I was   
almost in time to save Nightcrawler.  
  
  
[Century]  
  
    I saw the tall woman charge into the room.  She   
would be no match for my blade, I figured.  Until her first   
blow broke it into two pieces.  I dodged her next punch and   
tripped her.  Tough as she might be, she had little skill to   
match to her strength.  The two men simply shot me.  
  
  
[Spider-woman]  
  
    Everything erupted into confusion.  The sweet   
young man, Douglock they called him (and boy would I   
like to take a look at his circuitry) was assaulted by the   
witch in the control chair.  Bloody cow, let's see if she does   
as well against an Avenger as she does against an innocent   
young man.  I formed a Psionic web to protect Century   
from the jerks firing into the bridge and went after the   
woman with a vengeance.  Unuscione, the daughter of   
Unus the Untouchable, was about to find out the hard way   
to never mess with the Avengers and their friends.  
  
  
[Prosh]  
  
    I could see the ship clearly with my visual sensors.    
The scan revealed a number of entities classed as friendly   
and a number classed as ambiguous.  I closed in on the   
ship.  Perhaps I could find a way to swing the balance.  
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    He claimed he had come from France.  Not from   
Brittany like so many others but from the North.  He was a   
lean, grey man with a serious face and a sober demeanour.    
He stood across the bridge, sword drawn, daring anybody   
to match him in arms.    
  
    Arthur had already watched his best knights being   
taken apart by this man, his speed was unbelievable and his   
slim form belied an incredible strength.  Arthur drew   
Excalibur and set forth across the bridge.    
  
    The man's name was Lancelot.  
  
  
[Industrial England]  
  
    He was the best student Paris Bennet had ever had   
by far.  In over 600 years he had never seen a man with this   
sort of aptitude for the natural sciences.  A true genius if   
there ever was one.  His warm laughter and disarming   
manner set everyone at ease, and if at times there was a   
disturbing intensity to his eyes everybody dismissed it.  He   
was brilliant and popular and his future was bright.    
  
    Bennet had finally given up his ancient crusade.    
His opponent had fallen and there would be no others after   
him to continue his mad quest.  If the notions of that new   
fellow Darwin bore a superficial resemblance to the views   
he had fought so long ago, it was clear on inspection that   
they were nothing of the kind.  Whatever the various   
debating societies claimed.  Bennet had at last begun a   
family and the awful price he had once paid had faded   
from his mind.  His sword was but an unusual feature over   
the mantelpiece.  How naive he had been.  Nothing was   
ever free and everything had to be paid for.  
  
    The man's name was Nathaniel Essex.  
  
  
[The Present - Brian Braddock]  
  
    I was almost at Exodus when I saw the pattern of   
Bamfs end as Nightcrawler took a desperately needed rest   
from pummelling his foe.  I grabbed the bloody bastard by   
the neck and held him up.  "Surrender Exodus, end this   
before more people get hurt."  
  
    "Foolish Captain," I heard him say. "You should   
have struck without mercy for against the glory of Exodus   
there are no second chances."  A wall of fire blasted forth   
from his eyes and knocked me across the deck.  I watched   
him grab Nightcrawler in some sort of psionic web.  If only   
I had been a bit faster he wouldn't be so tired from multiple   
teleports.  "No!" I cried.  And then Frenzy was there   
attacking me.  
  
  
[Spider Woman]  
  
    Unuscione was tough, there was absolutely no   
doubt about that.  She used her psionic exoskeleton as if it   
were an extension of herself.  Unfortunately for her, it   
seemed the poor dear could only face one target at a time.    
Unfortunately for me, she seemed more than capable of   
crushing the life out of me.  I saw the brave young man   
reach down and turn the controls off somehow.    
Courageous to stand instead of running for his life.  
  
    Then he crossed the border towards foolhardy and   
went after Unuscione by himself.  
  
  
[Century]  
  
    The web blocking the door gave me a brief chance   
to recover from the energy blast.  Frenzy seemed to have   
found some other target elsewhere and that was fine as far   
as I was concerned.  Then I saw Nightcrawler being slowly   
crushed.  He was trying to teleport so desperately and   
failing so miserably.  I teleported over to Exodus and swung   
my axe with all my might.  It bit deeply and crimson blood   
spewed from the deep wound.  But the blood seemed   
wrong and then I realised something, the blood was burning   
like acid.  
  
    My past was a mystery.  I had no memory of where   
I came from or who I was before I came to earth.  But in   
that moment I was seized with a deep certainty, a hideous   
foreboding.  I had fought this man before and was only   
alive due to some horrible price.  Or some treacherous   
betrayal!  
  
  
[Shadowcat]  
  
    I hoped everyone was doing well back at the bridge.    
I hated leaving them like that but it was all part of this nifty   
plan we put together.  You see, a SHIELD Battle carrier   
routes all of its weapons systems through the CIC (Combat   
Information centre don'tcha know).  All I had to do was   
phase through the computers and this ship would be   
nothing more than a flying hulk.  Simple and easy.  What   
could possibly go wrong?  
  
    I reached the CIC and phased through the door.    
Fantastic.  Then I saw Peter standing at the controls, his   
eyes boring into mine.  My head began to itch as a tele-  
pathic probe penetrated my defences, something had gone   
hideously wrong.  
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    It was his greatest victory.  The warring Kings had   
fallen before his armies and order had been restored.  It was   
the dawn of the glory that was Camelot.  He surveyed the   
fields of Camlann and smiled, here, at the site of his   
greatest battle Arthur would build Camelot.  This was   
before all that came ahead.    
  
    Life was good.  
  
  
[The Middle Ages]  
  
    Exodus stood over the battered remains of his first   
and oldest foe, his heart still choked with horror at the   
awful price power had cost him.  Apocalypse had fallen and   
the Knights Templar were victorious.  Before him he could   
see only an endless succession of crusades, an endless   
series of battles until all who stood against the right path fell   
before him.    
  
    Life was good.  
  
  
[The Present - Prosh]  
  
    I landed softly on top of the ship.  Tendrils shot   
forth from my much smaller form as I sought to connect to   
the onboard computers.  I had spent most of my life   
fighting against this sort of madness, I was not going to   
cease doing so now.  I had watched too many people I had   
admired fight and fall to this sort of evil.  In an offhand way   
I wondered if Cable would remember me and if we would   
still be friends.  Probably not, it is the way of the carbonites   
to move on after a loss quickly.  Only a machine   
remembers forever.  
  
  
[Shadowcat]  
  
    "Peter?"  I said.  I heard the most awful voice issue   
forth from his mouth.    
  
    "Dear little scaredy-cat.  Do you know the boy truly   
cares for you, I can sense his pain and his longing for you.    
How much better for me when I make him kill you."  I hear   
laughter.  
  
    This little problem won't be difficult to solve, I'll just   
phase past him and disable the computers.  Then I'll see   
about restraining him somehow until I can get the professor   
to look at him.  Imagine my surprise when I don't phase.  
  
    "Poor little Kitty can't phase?  I wonder if my   
telepathic interference has anything to do with that?  Run   
little kitten but you can't hide.  The boy won't get tired and I   
won't let him stop."  I hear more of the same hideous   
laughter.    
  
    I think I'm in trouble.  
  
  
[Captain Britain]  
  
    I see Century and Nightcrawler fall in a hail of   
psionic energy as the bugger clutches his side.  I see him   
dripping blood.  I hammer at Frenzy with a fury I had   
forgotten I had.  She staggers back under the force of my   
blows and falls.  I don't even bother to check and see how   
badly she is hurt. I fly at Exodus, I have got to end this now   
or more people will be hurt or killed.  Some of them are my   
friends, my team-mates.  
  
  
[Spider Woman]  
  
    I see the boy grab Unuscione and begin to   
transform her arm into some sort of circuitry.  She struggles   
but is unable to break free.  Her exoskeleton drops me and   
grabs him, but I am on her too quickly.  I grab her throat.    
"Let him go, you bitch!" I cry.  She stares at me, hatred and   
resentment glower in her eyes but she does as I say.  A   
quick blow to the back of her head ensures she will be   
causing no more trouble.    
  
    I turn, the Klienstock brothers have to be subdued   
and quickly.  From the corner of my eyes I can see Captain   
Britain pummelling Exodus.  Good, he deserves it.  Then   
the whole room goes black.  
  
  
[Exodus]  
  
    The room is shattered by my energy blast.  I see   
them all go down before the fury I have unleashed upon   
them.  Poor deluded fools can't they see that it is hopeless   
to stand against me, I wonder what Magneto ever saw in   
these cattle.  I followed him with zeal and enthusiasm   
because he rescued me from my long entombment and   
because I thought his cause was similar to mine.  To rule   
the weak minded, to establish a dynasty to guide the destiny   
of mankind.  But he was weak and a darker power taught   
me that all such dreams are dust.  I should have learned   
such from Essex so long ago.  
  
    Then beyond all chance, Captain Britain staggers to   
his feet.  He won't be enough to stop me.  I once almost   
destroyed Genosha with an energy globe, I will do the same   
to Muir Island.  Then shall the skies above my homeland   
blaze with my fire.  
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    It was a cold afternoon when Arthur realised that he   
was not the brother of Kay after all but the son of a king.    
He had drawn forth the sword from the stone by pure   
accident, but it had proclaimed him King of England.    
  
    But it was Merlin who taught him of what must be   
done and set his feet on the long, bloody trail of glory to   
give birth to a dream.  
  
  
[The Middle Ages]  
  
    The Lady of the Lake had given him Excalibur, to   
bear in her name against the horror that was sweeping over   
all of Europe.  He pledged his life to her and his troth,   
swearing he would be true to his goals forever.    
  
    But the dark sorcerer, fellow student of the Ancient   
One's master, had come to him and whispered of a greater   
power.  One that would give him the strength to combat   
this dreadful evil, for the greater good of all humanity.  
  
    So he coaxed the Lady, the one he loved most in   
all the world, and fed her to a demon in return for power.    
He waited outside the door as she screamed her dying cries   
and listened to the awful sounds of eating that followed.    
Then he entered and claimed his reward.  A dark heritage   
bereft of glory.  
  
  
[The Present - Shadowcat]  
  
    I could see the awful look on Peters face and hear   
the pleading in his voice as he begged me to stop him, to   
kill him.  The sick sadist that was the Shadow King didn't   
even spare me that.  I was ragged and hurt, only my   
training at the hands of Wolverine had given me the ability   
to survive this so long.  I was leading him in a deliberate   
pattern, the Shadow King was so obsessed with what was   
going on that he never realised where we were until it was   
too late.    
  
    I dodged a blow that would pulverise steel and hit   
the controls that opened the hatch on the observation deck.    
Then I turned and kicked with all my might.  
  
    If he hadn't been distracted it wouldn't have worked   
but I caught him off balance, he slipped and began to fall.    
That much momentum and he wouldn't be able to stop.  He   
would survive the fall and we could get him later when this   
mess was handled.  
  
    I watched in shock and horror as he transformed   
back into human flash and heard the cold, mocking laughter   
of the Shadow King.  I leapt for Peter and nearly grabbed   
his hand but a force field intercepted me at the last   
moment.    
  
    All I could do was stare into his shocked face as he   
fell into the open air far below.  My shock and horror   
nearly finished me as Skids came at me with a knife of   
some sort.  She was the one who had prevented me from   
saving Peter.  With uncharacteristic brutality I disarmed her   
by breaking her arm.  The sleazy tramp was still using her   
force field to block me from Peter and so she deserved all   
the pain I could inflict.  The slight, shallow slash she had   
given me was no cause for concern.    
  
    One way or the other this ended now.  
  
  
[Dr. Doom] (see Wolverine #99 for details of how the   
good doctor got here)  
  
    I gestured to Wanda to keep silent.  We were so   
near to the prize and I would not tolerate the interference of   
incompetents with my goal in sight.  Exodus blazed with   
mystic power, power that rightfully belonged to Doom!  I   
could see some foolish hero getting himself battered trying   
to stop Exodus from leaving.  Let him take the beating, but   
Doom would gain the prize.  
  
  
[Brian Braddock]  
  
    I have died once and was beaten nearly to death   
on another occasion, and I fear death like I fear nothing   
else.  But this is one of those times that the death of one   
man is meaningless.  If this madman gets loose millions   
might die, and what I am compare to that.  So I keep   
fighting even though I know the inevitable conclusion and I   
can see my death coming closer with every bolt.  I'm not a   
hero, but I try to do what's right so hard.  God rest my soul   
but it's the best I can ever seem to do.  I feel a hot tear slide   
down my cheek, I wish to heaven I had a chance to tell   
Meggan how much I love her, that she is all the light in a   
life soon to end.    
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    Arthur cursed the cruel fates.  Guinevere was the   
person he loved most and Lancelot was his best friend.  But   
there they were, lying together in the fresh spring grass   
entwined together.  He raised Excalibur above his head and   
thought to bring it down and murder them both.  But he   
couldn't.  Instead he stabbed the blade into the ground   
between them and left it.  He turned his back on his dream   
and left.  
  
    He'd see that blade only once again, at the very end,   
when all else had fallen apart and he had lost a war against   
his best friend.  
  
  
[Industrial England]  
  
    Paris Bennet let himself into his house, which of   
course doubled as his lab and study.  He was looking   
forward to his chess match with Essex tonight, in all the   
long years Essex was the only player who could   
consistently beat him.  He listened for his children's shouts,   
marrying at long last had been part of his acceptance that   
the long watch was over and that England was the ultimate   
expression of his dream.  The white man's burden was   
hard.  
  
    It was his dream to establish a world in which the   
best and the brightest stood far above mankind and guided   
its destiny.  People were simply not capable of making their   
own decisions, or at least not yet.  He frowned at the   
thought of Essex's recent discussions of Social Darwinism.    
The man never seemed to realise that mankind was a seed   
to nurtured and grown.  Hacking at it to increase   
evolutionary pressure was just simply wrong.  In a moment   
of honesty he realised that he had diverged greatly from his   
dream long ago.  He stepped into the parlour.  Where was   
everyone?  
  
    The he saw them, butchered, torn apart.  His   
papers looted and his works destroyed.  They were all there   
except Cynthia and Essex, he had encouraged their love   
and now this betrayal.  All that remained was an archaic   
blade and a message written in blood.  
  
    Exodus called his dream forth one last time,   
summoned his followers and went into battle with Excalibur   
at the end.  
  
  
[The Present - Ship]  
  
    Take-over of the target vessel was nearly complete.    
All he needed was a bank of internal defences to be   
removed and this would be his new host form.  Once again   
he would be the mighty Celestial Warship that had housed   
X-Factor so long ago, or nearly yesterday.  Cable would   
have been proud.  He wished that he could talk to Cable   
again.  For so long they had fought together for the sake of   
a dream.  One last group of security computers blocked his   
ability to take full control of the ship.  All he needed was   
the help of one person aboard the ship.  
  
  
[Dr. Doom]  
  
    Wanda is easily overawed and manipulated, how   
could they have let her lead the Avengers!  I tell myself she   
is a weak and helpless cow who doesn't deserve the little   
assistance I give her.  Why then can't I stop thinking about   
her lush figure, her charming smile and the brilliant mind   
housed within all of this.    
  
    I focus on the central problem.  As Wanda downs   
the fool fighting Exodus with a Hex Bolt I step forth and   
begin to drain the power from him.  It is a mighty source of   
mystic energy gained at an awful price, it would corrupt the   
weak of will but I am Doom and I am beyond such things.     
  
  
[Shadowcat]  
  
    I start in surprise when the ship speaks to me.  I am   
angry and ignore it as I head towards my goal but slowly it   
begins to make sense.  What the heck, knocking out the   
security computers can't hurt.  
  
  
[The Dark Ages]  
  
    Arthur lay dying on the bloody soil, his dream in   
ashes and his kingdom gone.  His best friend is watching   
him with sorrow in eyes.  Excalibur is gone, he sent it with   
Belvidere to return to the Lady of the Lake.  "I fear old   
friend that my time is at an end.  Promise... promise you   
will take care of Gwen?"  
  
    "My honour on it," the tall grey man says.  
  
    Arthur Pendragon was taken in state to the Isle of   
Avalon by three Queens, including his long estranged   
sister.  He lies there, perhaps one day to wake when a   
dream of hope is dreamed.  
  
  
[Industrial England]  
  
    Exodus lay, battered and bloody at the hands of   
Apocalypse.  He wondered what hideous price Essex had   
paid for his allegiance to Apocalypse, he would never   
know now.  He had disintegrated Hawkwood and   
beheaded Cynthia.  The cry from Essex was all he needed   
to know that he had truly loved her.  He had impaled Essex   
with Excalibur and seen the surprise in his eyes that he   
could still be hurt.  The wound was almost certainly mortal.    
But his followers were dead and his oldest foe had   
triumphed.  He glared at the mocking face and the glowing   
eyes.  Excalibur had been torn from his grasp when he   
impaled Essex and was lost to him.  His mystic powers   
had been drained in fierce battle with a foe older than time.    
He had lost his fight.  
  
    Now, at the end of it all, he could see how he had   
let it all go wrong.  How he had been tainted by the very   
magic that he had claimed, so many dark centuries ago.    
Somewhere, out in the wide world, a dark magician was   
laughing at how cheaply the soul of one so noble had been   
bought.  He had betrayed everything and let himself grow   
weak.  Weak enough that Apocalypse could triumph.  And   
yet, Apocalypse had never been so strong, not when he had   
fought him before.  He saw the dark figure raise his mighty   
fist to end it for him.  Any man would have died, then and   
there.  
  
    But Exodus was no longer human and he used his   
powers, those he was born with, to flee to the castle in   
which it had all began.  There he lies, perhaps to wake once   
again at the biding of a dream of blood and conquest.  
  
  
[The Present - Exodus]  
  
    The man with the scarred face stand before me in a   
loincloth.  His female companion is clad identically.    
Savages seeking to deny me my due, I taught a nation how   
to deal with them once long ago.  I strike at him and he   
absorbs my power.  We lock in a struggle of wills, but I   
paid the price for the power and it knows me.  Slowly, the   
stranger begins to lose.    
  
    But the brown haired woman next to him (younger   
than she should be, I sense the mark of Apocalypse on her,   
did she too pay Essex's price?), joins in heedless of the risk   
to herself.  What does she see in that scarred monster.    
  
    I watch, helpless, too tightly locked in combat as   
the room transforms itself at the hand of some outside   
agency and the young mutant with the power to phase   
returns.  Shadowcat- I remember her deception of the   
Acolytes with the   
hatred and contempt it deserves.  
  
    "Well Ship," she says. "Can you do anything about   
this?"  
  
    "One moment... Internal security engaged."  
  
    Energy webs grab me and restrain me.  I am too   
weak to fight against it.  We are taken down instantly, and   
hard.  I try to call my power forth but it is still trapped in a   
battle of wills.  I am helpless.    
  
    Strange little robots appear to tend to the fallen as I   
rage against my bonds, it can't end this way.  It can't.  I was   
born for glory and it is being taken from me.  I scream a   
howl of rage but the ship has already compensated.  I have   
fallen, it is the story of my life.  
  
  
Epilogue [Muir Island]  
  
    "... so wi' the intervention o' the advanced medical   
equipment o' the ship, casualties were minimised from the   
enhanced radiation weapons.  We hae twa cases that are   
close calls but on the whole ah think we can hope an' pray   
that there'll be no dead as a result o' this attack." Moira   
lectured.  "Now whit was that damn fool stunt ye pulled,   
don't ye hae onythin' better t' do than get yerselves   
injured?"  
  
    "Give Herr Kaptain a break Moira," Nightcrawler   
interjected. "It was a good plan and it did work, although   
we had a little help"  
  
    Spiderwoman just smiles.  "This young man here   
saved my life, I forget to give you your heroes reward," she   
says in a sultry voice.  She gives Douglock a deep probing   
kiss and watches him as for one of the first times in his life   
he is speechless.  The room bursts into laughter.  Too bad,   
she thinks that he, isn't five years older.  Douglock stares at   
her dumbfounded, a faint memory stirs in the back of his   
mind but is gone before he can grasp it. Silently he analyses   
the taste of her lips to give himself something to do.  
  
    "An' aw these prisoners, whit are we goin' t' do   
wi' them?" Moira mutters, cutting through the mirth.  
  
    "It is a mutant detention centre..." Brian begins.  
  
    Moira shoots him a withering look.  "Dr. Doom   
isnae quite whit ah had in mind when ah created this centre   
an' Wanda is technically an Avenger!"  
  
    "Offer him a deal," Kurt suggests. "If Herr Doktor   
helps with the Legacy virus he gets a full pardon when a   
cure is found..."  
  
    Moira looks thoughtful.  "As for you young lady,   
the dragon is bad enough but Ship is almost 2000 feet   
long.  Exactly were ye expectin' t' store it?"  
  
    "Ship is my friend, Moira, and he saved all our   
lives!" Kitty spins and leaves.    
  
    'What is up wi' that girl?" Moira demands,   
exasperated.  "On second thoughts, dinna answer that.    
Okay, Brian, ye led the team so ye get t' explain the ship..."    
Brian unsuccessfully tries to struggle out of the hospital   
bed.    
  
\- - - - - - - -  
  
    Kitty looked out over the still waters of the Atlantic   
Ocean.  Once Peter Rasputin had meant the world to her   
and seeing him killed that way... well it was simply wrong.    
"Any sign Ship?"  "Still scanning Mistress Kate.  However,   
you should know about a disturbance at the south pole..."  
  
    Shadowcat let a flower fly from her hands to settle   
upon the cold waters of the North Atlantic in memory of a   
friend


	18. X-Men #50: Shadowlands Arc

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group using characters   
copyrighted to Marvel Entertainments Group without their permission.   
We are evil, unlawful and twisted, but we look good.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
The 50th issue of the X-Men  
CJA Delaney: writer  
Marysia: Editor and other similar stuff  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Prologue [The Savage Land]  
  
    Three figures flew through the darkness.  Mist rose   
around them as the cooling of the night caused conden-  
sation to occur.  They looked human to all outward   
appearances but they were not.  They were mutants.  Two   
women and a man who had been born with the X-factor in   
their genes and been hounded across the planet as a result.    
Now they were about to die at the hands of one of their   
own!  A mutant by the name of Amahl Farouk who had   
"died" in psionic combat with Charles Francis Xavier.  He   
had returned as an astral entity calling himself the Shadow   
King.  
  
    The older of the two women had been his consort,   
his Shadow Queen.  Her name was Jean Grey and she had   
been involved in the wars of Homo Superior from the very   
beginning.  When she was just a girl she had been recruited   
by Xavier as one of his X-Men.  For more than a decade, in   
one guise or another, she had fought the good fight.    
Farouk's mental tampering had unleashed the woman she   
had always wanted to be but had never had the courage to   
make herself into.  She smiled a feral smile.  That she was   
about to die didn't bother her in the least.  
  
    The man beside her had been involved in wars for   
more than fifty years.  First as a victim and then as a leader   
of men, he had fought for what he believed was right for   
longer than he could remember.  There was no longer a   
time when he could remember peace and perhaps there had   
never been peace for him.  Magneto, Master of Magnetism,   
was falling victim to an enemy he couldn't fight, he was   
going to die.  The virus slowly killing him had almost   
finished it's dreadful course.  He could no longer even   
breathe properly and waves of pain wracked his body.  But   
he gave no outward sign of his agony.  He had always   
prevailed upon every obstacle in his path and he would   
prevail once again.  But in the twilight of his life he wept   
that there was not one person on the planet who would   
mourn his passing.  
  
    The second woman went by the name Rogue, since   
she refused to tell even her closest friends her real name.  It   
was so silly anyway.  She smirked, unable to decide   
whether it was her name that was silly or the fact that, even   
now, she held onto it like it was a great secret.  She had   
begun her life as a terrorist with the Second Brotherhood   
of Evil Mutants but had come to Charles Xavier when her   
powers had proved too much for her.  She had always   
longed for human contact but it was ever denied to her.    
She alone of the trio was ignorant of just how unlikely a   
victory was.  But it was for the best, for if she had known   
the results of the grim battle awaiting her she would have   
wept too, as it was she still clung to the hope of a happy   
ending to it all.   
  
  
Main [Makeshift Camp]  
  
    Wolverine crouched in the tall grass, his hyper   
acute senses taking in every sound and scent of the wild   
jungle.  He sniffed a few more times and realised that he   
wasn't mistaken at what he was smelling.  Magneto and   
Grey had both been here recently, as well as Rogue and   
somebody else he could not place.  A dark and dim scent   
that unsettled the part of him that was more animal than   
human.  The others he smelled were still there: Natasha   
Romanov, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.  Of them all it   
was Natasha that stayed his hand.  For by now they were   
all pawns of the force that had possessed Magneto, since   
there obviously hadn't been a battle here.  He would have   
smelled the sweat and fear.  He remembered her as a young   
girl who had been so brave, so long ago, in Madripoor.  He   
caught himself and stepped forward.  He would want a   
clean and merciful death too if the same had happened to   
him.  
  
    Stark was lying there clutching his chest.  He smelt   
of pain.  Old pain that was bringing him slowly and surely   
down into the pit of blackness from which nobody ever   
escapes.  Rogers was staring at a map, face rapt with   
concentration.  Romanov was having trouble breathing and   
her throat was swollen and lividly bruised.  Wolverine   
chose his target and prepared to spring.  
  
    "I have contacted Quicksilver," Stark said breaking   
the deep quiet of the jungle night. "He isn't coming for us.    
He says... he says his daughter is sick and he isn't willing to   
leave her side."  
  
    "So we are on our own.  Or almost so.  Wolverine,   
you can come out now."  
  
    Wolverine rose from the grass, his teeth bared,   
ready to pounce.    
  
    "Natasha spotted you a while ago.  I guess you are   
losing your edge Logan.  I wouldn't have figured anybody   
could see you at your peak."    
  
    "Nothin's ever a sure thing.  What gave me away?"  
  
    "The claws glinting in the moonlight, little uncle.  I   
see they aren't bone anymore.  Oh God, I have missed   
you."  Natasha ran over and embraced Wolverine.  Tears   
streamed down her cheeks as she clung to him tightly.  "I   
failed them little uncle, I failed my friends and now they're   
dead because of me.  Because I was too stupid to see the   
disaster in the making.  Because I didn't trust my instincts.    
Because I hated Wanda so much that I became afraid to   
make a mistake she could use to unseat me..."  She clung   
to the short berserker, her body wracked with   
uncontrollable sobs.  He slowly retracted his claws and   
returned her embrace.    
  
    "This is ridiculous.  Here we are trapped and alone   
in the jungle while you two play at long lost relatives.  This   
isn't getting us any closer to rescue."    
  
    "What's the matter Stark?  Can't take playin' when   
the game's over an' it turns real?"  
  
    "There's no call for that Mister," Rogers shouted.   
"We have to all pull together if we're going to get out of   
this one alive.  Fighting with each other will only make it   
worse!"  
  
    "Don't flamin' lecture me Rogers!  I knew you   
when ya were a punk kid an' still wet behind the ears.  I've   
been killin' longer'n you've been breathin'.  So we've had a   
few tough breaks.  We learn an' we go on... or we die.  If   
cry baby there wants to give up that's his option.  We all   
have it, it's called death."  
  
    "You don't understand Wolverine.  It's my heart.  It   
was damaged long ago in Vietnam <IM #1, LA> and it has   
started to fail again.  If I don't get medical help soon... I   
called up Pietro but he wouldn't help, he wouldn't save   
me... didn't even care that I was dying..."  
  
    "Tough break bub.  You gonna let it stop ya or are   
ya tougher than that?  We all die, sooner or later.  This the   
way you wanna go?  This what you want to be   
remembered as?  Think long bub.  Think hard.  Now's   
when it really counts.  Not when it's a game a' spandex   
costumes and megalomaniacs.  No, it's real when you're all   
alone and help'll never come.  When it's kill or be killed.    
When ya reach over to your best friend to put him out his   
misery after his body's been shattered by somethin' he never   
even saw comin'.  I've fought in wars all my life.  This is   
when you decide what you really are?  I think you're a   
wimp, bub."  
  
    "No, I'm not a wimp... it's just... it's just..."  
  
    "Just what, Stark?"  
  
    "I don't want to die.  Not like this."  
  
    "Nobody wants to die, bub.  It's how you handle it   
when it comes that matters."  Wolverine watched as Stark   
walked over to the ruin of his armour and began to salvage   
several parts.  
  
    "That was cold mister and way out of line."  
  
    "Go tell someone who cares, Rogers.  I did what   
had to be done.  I didn't like it, but it had to be said.  Now   
go away and bother someone else, bub.  The little lady and   
I have some private business and three is definitely a   
crowd".  
  
  
[Muir Island]  
  
    Exodus looked at the walls of his holding cell.  The   
psionic dampeners were giving him a headache and they   
weren't particularly effective.  It seemed that nobody else   
besides Doom had figured out his powers were mystical in   
origin... or at least mostly mystical.  He had been a mutant   
first, born into one of the most tumultuous periods of   
English history.  He had sacrificed all that he had loved to   
pursue a dream- but one day he woke up and there was no   
longer a dream.  Only a nightmare remained.  
  
    When did it happen he wondered.  When did the   
vision of a world in which all men lived free and equal   
become the twisted vision of colonialism?  When did he   
forget his principals and support a madman with an   
impossible dream of separatism.  His cheeks burned with   
shame at how he had treated the Acolytes.  For the first   
time in seven hundred years he felt the burden of his   
power.  So long ago he had been told that the white magic   
bound into Excalibur could prevent the black magic he had   
absorbed from corrupting him.  But Excalibur was gone for   
good.  Left in the guts of Nathanial Essex in a temple so   
long ago.  
  
    There was a dream in this world that he did admire.    
A dream such as he might have dreamed in his innocent   
youth so long ago.  For all that Doom had tried to do him   
harm, he owed the man a debt beyond repaying.  For   
Doom had freed him from the thrall his own power had   
over him, let him see clearly for the first time in centuries.    
He wondered if perhaps Charles Xavier could use another   
X-Man.  
  
    He heard Unscione's sobs as she was led back to   
her cell.  The test Moira was using on her had hurt her   
horribly.  Moira had some theory about being able to cure   
the techno-organic virus that had infected her.  He doubted   
she would succeed.  He wished he could take her pain   
away but it had been too long since he had dared use his   
power to heal.  He listened to her sobs in silence and   
waited for his turn.  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    The Shadow King sat in silence, waiting.  Waiting   
for the battle to be joined.  Already his new host was   
prepared and he grew tired of this empty and hollow shell.    
All of the interest in it had fled when Sauron and Lykos   
had destroyed each other in a savage mental duel <XMU   
6?, LA>.  Only the hint of Jean Grey left in the mind made   
him smile in fierce anticipation of his consorts return.  She   
had suffered so greatly when he twisted her.  He savoured   
the memory of her body... so helpless... so hurt...  
  
    The wall exploded inwards throwing the Shadow   
King across the room.  He rose with a hiss and a snarl.  His   
assembled Mutates cowered before the man who stood   
there.  Magneto, tall and proud, his eyes filled with a killing   
light.  Elsewhere he could sense the thoughts of his   
followers as they engaged Jean and Rogue.  Perfect.  Too   
bad he didn't sense a small band making it's way to his   
citadel.  
  
  
[One Kilometre (about 0.6 miles) from Saurons Citadel]  
  
    "We can't keep this pace up Mister.  I have disliked   
the way you have handled things from the beginning but   
this is going too far.  Stark is hurting bad, he can't go any   
faster."  
  
    "I... can... do... it..." Stark muttered.  
  
    "You think he's goin' to give us any second chances   
bub?  That he'll care about whether or not we're hurting?"  
  
    "I had things well in hand until you came along..."   
Captain America protested.  
  
    "Really?  What if the Shadow King gets ahold of   
Magneto again?  What's your brilliant plan for that bub?    
What if Jeanie... what if she ain't been totally freed from   
him?  What then?"  
  
    "Rogue went with them..."  
  
    "I feel safer already.  What were you thinkin', lettin'   
them go like that?"  
  
    "I figured they could handle it."  
  
    "You better have been right bub."  
  
    "I have had enough of this... If you can't say   
something nice, don't say anything at all!" Steve Rogers   
protested.  
  
    "He's right Steve.  We should have gone with   
Magneto.  Being hurt wasn't an excuse for giving up."   
Natasha barked.  
  
    "I just think he's being counter-productive to the   
overall morale of this mission..."  
  
    "Stuff it where the sun don't shine bub!"  Wolverine   
stopped and sniffed, glancing about.  Then he broke into a   
break-neck run.  The Black Widow followed him   
immediately.  Rogers hesitated for a moment than reached   
down and started to assist Stark.  
  
    "Go... with... them... I'll... be... alright..." Stark   
forced a grin to his face.  "Go... on... and... give... them...   
hell... for... me."  Rogers hesitated a moment longer and   
then followed his companions into the jungle and vanished   
into the night.  Stark sank to the ground, his left are now   
entirely numb.  "Blasted... heart..." he muttered.   
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel] Rogue's POV  
  
    Ah split up with th' others.  Magnus was bound an'   
determined ta go right after th' Shadow King 'fore many   
more got hurt.  Ah can't say ah blame him for his concern.    
Ah thought ah could do more good using mah powers ta   
distract the mutates that might make life difficult for   
Maggie.  Ah still didn't trust Phoenix, not after she skull   
scanned mah mind without asking first!  No manners on   
that gal!  
  
    Ah flew quick an' low, knockin' them suckers over   
and scatterin' em.  If Eric could act quickly enough then   
perhaps ah wouldn't have ta hurt anyone else.  Killin' ain't   
what bein' an X-Man is all about.  It's findin' a better way,   
even when it's hard.  That's what ol' Charles Xavier taught   
us an' it was a good lesson.  
  
    Then mah eyesight went in a blindin' sheet a' white.    
For a second ah tried ta clear mah eyes and then ah got all   
dizzy.  Next thing ah knew, ah had made an unwelcome   
acquaintance with the ground hereabouts!  Then ah felt a   
white hot pain in mah side an' ah screamed.  
      
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    Charles Xavier was thinking.  Guilt was running   
through his body as if it were a cancer.  He had sold out,   
given up on his principles for the sake of expediency.  The   
worst part was that, as he did it, he realised that the   
principles he thought he was selling out had been sold   
long ago.  Sacrifices on the alter of expediency.  
  
    He gazed at the two girls.  Someone had treated   
Scanner for her gut wound.  He was glad of that.  For all   
that she was an enemy, he would rather that she not die,   
especially not here and now, so far from home.  Vashkin   
had promised that he could take her with him.  Perhaps he   
could rehabilitate her the way he was doing with Sabre-  
tooth.  She noticed him staring at her and gave him a bale-  
ful look.  Or perhaps not.  
  
    The young never understood what had to be done.    
He had sold out his oldest friend to certain death.  What   
was one more body worth in the face of that.  He   
considered, maybe he should let the good Colonel have   
her for the vivisectionists.  Or was he just trying to bury   
the shame by suggesting this to himself?  
  
    Charles Xavier continued to brood and his thoughts   
we not pleasant ones.  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    The swamp men were famed for their strength and   
brutality.  They had an entire culture based on fearless   
opposition to their foes and the man they were guarding   
was like a god to them.  Nevertheless, they fell before the   
grim Master of Magnetism as if they weren't even there.    
Magneto staggered forward, barely able to stand, as   
lightening flashed forth from him.  At long last he faced the   
grim horror of the Shadow King, and this time there would   
be no retreat possible.  
  
    Above him Jean was cutting through the Shadow   
King's followers like a hot knife through butter.  Magneto's   
enhanced telepathy could sense her terror at the prospect   
of facing Farouk again.  This same terror drove her into   
frenzied attacks against those of his followers without the   
good sense to run for their lives.    
  
    He could also sense Rogue being defeated as she   
sought to fight next to Jean.  Rogue was blinded by   
Whiteout and had no telepathy to compensate.  He felt his   
heart lurch as Equilibrius focused his power on her and   
Rogue fell to the jungle floor helpless.  He felt the spear   
that Barbarus drove through her as if it were his own body   
that was pierced.  
  
    He gestured with his mighty mutant power and the   
very citadel exploded as magnetic force lines twisted and   
warped.  The trace iron in the walls was drawn forth and   
the structure collapsed burying the Shadow King and most   
of his followers.  Magneto could sense the dozens of   
deaths, many of them were followers he had created so   
long ago.  All his sins had returned to haunt him.  
  
    He lowered himself to the rubble and looked about.    
There was one person whose death he had not sensed, not   
in the slightest.  Above him Jean soared on wings of tele-  
kinetic fire.  The sheer beauty of it all struck him, the   
jungle, the trees, the wild and untamed edge of the world.    
He took one more breath from his disease wracked lungs   
and turned to the task at hand.   
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Rogue screamed as Barbarus twisted the spear.  He   
grinned, a look of gloating satisfaction on his face.  Lupo   
licked his lips in anticipation.  Piper stopped playing just to   
watch as the heroine who had thwarted them for so long   
was at last finished.    
   
    "It's dying time girl... you evaded us too many   
times, and now you're gonna pay..."  
  
    SNICKT!  Barbarus turned at the sudden sound to   
see a small man perched on a pile of rubble, bloodlust in his   
eyes and metal claws extending from his knuckles.  "Think   
fast, bub.  Think twice.  Y'r next move might be a life   
breaker!"  
  
    "The hell you say runt.  The girl is dead meat.   
<gurgle>".  Barbarus' taunt was cut off in mid-sentence as   
Wolverine leapt off his perch and onto the large mutant.    
Claws flashed and Barbarus died.  Lupo charged and began   
tearing at Wolverine.  Wolverine responded in kind and   
they fell to the ground locked in a mortal struggle.  Piper   
raised his pipe to his lips only an instance before a Widow's   
Sting finished his life.    
  
    Wolverine struggled free from Lupo's mauled   
corpse, his eyes alert with a feral madness and a berserker   
fury barely restrained.  The gashes on his face were so deep   
that adamantium could been seen in the pale torch-light.    
"Are you alright?" a worried Natasha inquired.  
  
    "Been better, been worse." Wolverine replied.   
"How's Rogue?"  
  
    "Not good.  Be kinder to end it now..."  
  
    "No!  We don't kill our own."  The sounds of battle   
echoed through the dark night.  Above them a bird of fire   
swooped over the battlefield spraying blasts of telekinetic   
fury.  "Never realised Jeanie was this powerful without the   
Phoenix Force.  Let's go 'Tasha, an' finish this."    
  
      
[Sauron's Citadel]  Magneto's POV  
  
    I felt his telepathic probes strike my skull like the   
talons of an eagle, biting deep into my mind.  The pain   
blurred my concentration and pushed my stressed system   
to the limit.  I responded by focusing a beam of EM   
radiation and spraying Sauron's foul form with it.  
  
    *Give it up Magneto,* the Shadow King gloated.    
*You are but a mere novice in the arena of the mind while   
I acknowledge no master.*  He pushed me harder and I   
began to fall into darkness.  For the first time in my life I   
was simply unable to take the punishment.  *Join me and I   
can save you...* his taunting voice called but it was already   
a distant echo as if from far away and long ago.    
*NEVER,* I cried but it was an abyss that I screamed   
across and I never knew whether or not he heard me.  
  
    Then I was a child again, back in the days before   
the Nazis came and destroyed... everything.  I looked up   
into the kind and patient eyes of my Father.  He was as I   
always remembered him, a hard working man who had   
done his best to lift his family into prosperity.  Kindly and   
gentle, he loved his wife and children deeply and was   
always willing to help others.  He was opposed to any sort   
of violence and lived his life with a sense of purpose,   
always ready with a quick grin or helpful platitude.  The   
only time this facade had ever shattered was the day the   
Nazis had come.  They were half Jewish in a Gypsy   
community.  The SS had decided not to burden themselves   
with the extra passengers on overcrowded trucks and so   
had machine-gunned his family.  He remembered the   
shocked look on his Father's face as they were led before   
the guns.  But his father had never resisted, not even for a   
second.  He had, a momentary surge of magnetic power   
had protected him, but only him.  All of the others had   
been torn apart by the bullets.  
  
    "And that never taught you anything?" The elder   
Lensherr asked.  
  
    "What was it supposed to teach me?  That the   
world is filled with darkness and corruption?  That all I   
love can be taken away at a moments notice?  That I can   
only depend on myself?"  
  
    "You have learned nothing Erik.  I thought I taught   
you so well and you learned nothing."  
  
    "What was I supposed to learn?"  
  
    "That how you face death is as important as how   
you face life.  That violence is never an answer, it only   
begets more violence.  Have all of your bloody deeds saved   
one life?  Reduced the world's hatred of your kind one   
iota?  Brought any sort of peace?  Or has it lead to only   
more bloodshed."  
  
    "Father, I..."  He watched in horrified fascination as   
his clothes changed from those of a young boy into the   
uniform of an officer of the Waffen SS.  
  
    "Is this what you want to be?"  
  
    "NO!  NEVER! This is some sort of sick lie!"  
  
    "No my son, it isn't.  You have been given all the   
chances that a man could ask for and you never learned,   
never overcame your bigotry.  What a legacy you leave   
behind.  You were not like us, the rest of your family!  You   
were born a philosopher and your destiny was to be a   
warrior.  But you placed a greater premium on destruction    
than on protecting..."  
  
    "I TRIED!  I TRIED SO HARD!  God knows I   
tried."  The image of Erik Lensherr sank to it's knees.  The   
uniform dissolved to be replaced with the helm and cowl of   
Magneto.  "But I will never give up on my dream.  I fought   
my way from the grave once before and I will never give   
up, not even now."  
  
    "Good.  You have been given a chance Erik, for   
reasons I don't understand.  You are not at all like me, my   
son, but I like to think that I can at least be proud of what   
you tried to do.  Now make me proud of what you will   
become."  
  
    Magneto turned and saw a third figure standing   
there.  He recognised Jean.  "What..."  She reached out her   
hand and he took it and suddenly the world dissolved.  He   
was back in his body, wracked with pain and lying in the   
rubble of Sauron's citadel.  He could feel the power of the   
Shadow King pummelling the walls of an impenetrable   
mental fortress that surrounded him.  And he stared up-  
wards into Jean's emerald eyes.  A silent angel of light   
protecting him from the encroaching darkness.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    Charles Xavier rubbed his bruised collarbone.  Only   
the quick actions of the SHIELD agents guarding him had   
saved his life from Scanner's attack.  The girl didn't under-  
stand, simply didn't understand.  She had screamed about   
loyalty and honour and other such gibberish, but the simple   
truth shone through all of that.  Magneto was too   
dangerous to be allowed to live and he had to be put down,   
the way one would put down a rabid dog.    
  
    He watched Colonel Vashkin as he supervised the   
final approach on Sauron's citadel.  The nature of the battle   
taking place seemed to prove the girl right, Magneto was   
free of his servitude to the Shadow King.  
  
    "I tried old friend, I gave you every chance to   
reform.  But I have a dream, a dream of equality, of   
humans and mutants living in peace and seeking to build a   
better world together.  Whether or not you are willing to   
change you have gone too far, been seen as a threat by too   
many.  There is only one option left and I only wish it   
couldn't be considered as murder."  He paused as one of   
Scanner's screams echoed through the room.  Listened as   
Vashkin muttered about incompetents and proper use of   
gags.  Why did he feel as if he were the enemy.  He looked   
over at Danielle Moonstar, she had refuse to meet his eyes   
since he bargained with Vashkin.  Didn't she understand,   
sometimes sacrifices had to be made.  Sometimes the path   
to heaven was paved with bodies.  But that wasn't right, in   
the saying it was the path to hell and it was paved with   
good intentions. If he was doing the right thing, why did it   
feel so wrong?  
  
  
Epilogue [Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Magneto watched as Jean turned away and faced   
the Shadow King.  He could feel her mind spilling into his   
as it cocooned him from the dark power that sought him so   
desperately.  He realised what she was doing too late to   
have a prayer of stopping it.  She had never been   
completely free of the Phoenix Force and now she called it   
to herself.  
  
    *NO!  There has to be a better way!*  
  
    *It's too late Magnus.  You're all but dead and I   
can't keep this up... too much of me wants to go back...   
too much of me enjoyed being free and uninhibited... but it   
wasn't freedom... it was the worst form of slavery... just   
like my marriage to Scott... that's how he got me...   
appealed to the part of me that wants to be loved so badly I   
will pay any price for love... only this price is too high and   
this isn't love...*  
  
    *We'll find another way.*  Magneto struggled to   
gain his feet but his body felt leaden.  The virus had almost   
completely run it's grim course and he had strained himself   
too much recently.  He felt the power envelop her and was   
astounded at how powerful she really was.  Then she   
struck.  Helplessly, he tried to intervene, to lend her psionic   
support, to save what could be saved.  
  
    The form of the Shadow King evaporated, boiled   
away by a telekinetic fury capable of destroying a sun.    
There was a dim wailing on the astral plane as the darkness   
that had shrouded it faded and it became light once again.    
There was a dim feeling of triumph in Jean. She had,   
beyond all hope, overcome her dark side and triumphed   
against the Shadow King.  
  
    *JEAN!* He could feel her mind winking out as the   
burned out neurons failed, one by one.  No mortal mind   
had ever been made to hold the power of the Phoenix, no   
mortal mind.  The energy form of the Phoenix rose from   
Jean's mindless body and, just for a second, seemed to be   
looking, searching for something.  Then it sped off into the   
distance.  Lost to sight.  
  
    *I did it Magnus!  I defeated him.  Better this way,   
rather die free than live like a slave.  There is no price too   
high to pay for that... no price too high...*  He howled   
inside as her mind faded to black.  Once again, one he had   
cared about, however briefly, had died and he had been   
helpless to prevent it.  He clutched her mindless body and   
failed to note the approaching footsteps.  
  
    "Greetings, O Creator.  It is our good fortune   
that we should find you this way.  You thought you were   
better than us, held yourself far above your pitiful servants.    
It is only just that you die in the mud and the slime... at our   
hands!"  Amphibius gloated, pulling a weapon from his   
belt.    
  
    Magneto looked at the small group of mutates as   
they closed in for the kill.  His body ached with stress,   
damage and pain.  His power had waned and he was too   
weak to stand.  He positioned himself between them and   
Jean and watched death close in...  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
....to be continued in Wolverine 100 with the X-men vs.   
Magneto in "For whom the Bell Tolls...".  


	19. Wolverine #100: Shadowlands Arc

X-Writers are a non-profit fan-fiction e-mail group using   
characters that belong to Marvel Entertainments Group, we do   
not have their permission. No animals were harmed during the   
production of this story.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------  
*The One Hundredth Issue of Wolverine*   
(Wow, I remember when this title started...)  
Writer: Chris Delaney  
Editor: Marysia (who does other neat stuff too)  
\---------------------------------------------------------  
  
Prologue [Savage Land]  
  
    The UN battalion had surrounded Tony Stark before he   
even knew they were there.  They melted out of the surrounding   
foliage; British and American special forces.  The best of the   
breed.  Even if he had been in top shape he wouldn't have   
considered resisting.  As it was he doubted he could put up   
enough resistance to discourage a rabid gopher.  
  
    "Don't move or we'll drop you!" a tough looking NCO   
shouted at him.  He felt hands seize him and the cool edge of a   
knife move to his throat.  "I'm... I'm an Avenger." Stark   
wheezed.  "Check it out!" the NCO barked.  
  
    "I recognise the armour pieces," a British officer   
interjected. "He's legit.  I'll bet on it."  
  
    "ID checks out," the NCO reported.  
  
    "Okay.  Get a medic up here.  Liz, you stay with him and   
make sure he gets prepped for evac!  The rest of you, let's get   
going.  We aren't being paid by the hour and we have a mutie to   
nail."  The British Major waved his soldiers on.  In moments only   
Stark, a medic and the lady officer remained.  
  
    "Damn overprotective brothers!" the officer fumed.  
  
  
Main [Xavier's Mansion]   
  
    "WHAT!" Scott yelled. "They went where? Looking for   
WHO!"  
  
    "As I was explaining before I was so rudely interrupted,   
the esteemed Professor went with Logan and Jean to the Savage   
Land to investigate Magneto's disappearance.  They have been   
missing for a couple of days now..."  Beast continued.  
  
    "And nobody thought that anything was WRONG with   
THAT!  What is up with you people?" Scott was getting a little   
hysterical. "I can't even re-establish my psionic rapport with   
Jean!  What has happened?"  
  
    "Calm yourself, Scott.  We have been extremely busy   
with a number of problems and we assumed the Professor was   
just extending his trip a bit.  Here, use Cerebro, that should   
enable you to make contact with Jean now that the astral   
turbulence has apparently settled down...wonder what was   
causing that..."  
  
    "Do not stray from the issue McCoy.  Those are dear   
friends of mine, missing beyond any reasonable explanation."  
  
    "One second Storm, the analysis of that wave of psionic   
turbulence has just come in...Oh my stars and Garters!"  
  
    "What is it now?  It has been nothing but a series of crises   
since we arrived!  What can you possibly report that would be   
worth interrupting this for!"  
  
    "Apparently Storm... apparently two major league psis   
have died in the Savage Land in the last 15 minutes.  They were   
what we were recording...  One of them matches the mental   
signature of Magneto.  The other... the other..."  
  
    "Bright Goddess, NO!"  
  
    "The other was Jean."  A tear rolled down the Beasts   
furred cheek.  "Somebody better tell Scott that Cerebro isn't   
going to do him any good..."  
  
    Grim silence and horrified disbelief cloaked the room.    
Quicksilver looked down at his boots.  If he had told the others   
about Stark's call maybe something could have been done.  He   
knew it was hopeless but still, something inside of him ached for   
his mistake.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    "Time to target?" Vashkin asked.  
  
    "Ten minutes off, sir," the exec replied.  
  
    "Sir!" the electronics intelligence officer barked.  
  
    "What is it?"  
  
    "I have a confirmation that our 2nd Battalion, the one   
that was aboard Freedom. is still active and mobile!  And they   
have taken control of the target area."  Cheers echoed across the   
bridge.  Xavier sighed with relief.  He wasn't going to have to go   
through with it after all!  
  
    "Nonsense.  We have a weak reading suggesting   
Magneto might still be alive.  Continue with the plan!  We must   
leave nothing to chance!"  
  
    "But sir, those are our boys down there!"  
  
    "Can you guarantee they haven't been compromised?"  
  
    "Be reasonable Vashkin!" Xavier said.  "I can use my   
mental powers to ascertain the status of the UN troops..."  
  
    "No.  I can't afford to take the chance that you might be   
wrong.  The stakes are way too high as it is!  We continue with   
the original plan unless better evidence is presented!"  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Rogue was awakened by a UN medic removing the spear   
that had been driven into her.  She screamed with pain, first from   
the removal of the shaft and then from the antiseptic they sprayed   
the wound with.  She looked and up and saw the blurry faces of   
UN soldiers.    
  
    "Don't try to move Rogue.  You've had a hell of a time   
and are in no condition to try anything silly, like walking."  
  
    "Y'all know mah name?"  
  
    "The briefing we were given suggested that you were   
here assisting the indigenous population against Magneto."  
  
    "It ain't Magneto that's causin' this fuss.  It's a psionic   
sleazebag by the name a' the Shadow King..."  
  
    The officer and the medic exchanged glances.  "Calm   
down girl.  You have had a nasty time of it and confusion is only   
to be expected.  Listen, I'll go see if I can get a chocolate bar   
from one of the troops and some coffee as well.  In the meantime   
why don't you get some rest.  You'll be going home soon."  
  
    "Ah ain't no girl an' ah know what ah'm talkin' about."   
Rogue struggled briefly as a sedative was introduced into her   
system.  "Listen, y'all have ta listen ta me..."  Slowly she faded   
into a warm, dark sleep.  
  
  
[Xavier's Mansion]  
  
    The mood was grim as the X-Men assembled in   
preparation for a rescue mission to the Savage Land.  The room   
was full of dark anger and resentment.  Scott was silent, as if   
nothing had happened.  Storm was talking quickly as she tried to   
finish preparations.  Beast was back to monitoring Luna and   
Quicksilver had gone with him.  Warren stood his ground like an   
avenging angel, wings spread out.  Psylocke had departed to   
fetch Bishop.  
  
    "So according to Dr. Cooper the UN task force was sent   
in along this path here," she indicated a point on the map, "to   
attack this fortress, here.  Satellite pictures confirm a multi-  
megaton explosion there which vaporised the entire mountain.    
The UN ground forces are all dead if they went in to their   
primary drop-zones and we must presume the Avengers are too."  
  
    "Is that where Jean was killed?" asked Warren.  
  
    "No, she was killed over here.  Hank thinks that he has   
found the Professor's mental signature cloaked by telepathic   
dampeners.  We are going there and heaven help whomever has   
him captive.  The transmission from the British authorities   
confirms that Excalibur is already enroute in one of the captured   
UN ships.  Lila, are you ready?"  
  
    "Any time yah want Stormy."  
  
    "Don't call me that."  
  
    Bishop rushed in with Psylocke just behind him.  "I came   
as soon as I heard!".    
  
    "Just in time Big Guy!" Lila said with a smile.  In a flash,   
the X-Men vanished and re-appeared in the Savage Land.  
  
  
[Hellfire Club: New York]  
  
    David R. Henry was a respected Senator from the state of   
North Dakota.  He had worked for the FBI and CIA before   
getting into politics and retained strong support from both of   
these organisations.  In fact, if it wasn't for a scrupulous sense of   
  
ethics, Senator Henry could have gone far.  He smiled a demon's   
smile in the mirror.  That would no longer be a problem.  
  
    He walked down the luxurious hallway, admiring the   
opulence of his chosen home.  The Hellfire Club had remained   
true to the principles on which he had founded it so long ago.    
His mind reached out and searched, gently as to not startle his   
prey.  The inner circle had all fallen, all but three.  Two of these   
he closed in on now.  He reached the appropriate door and   
smiled.  This was going to be fun.  Poor little Shinobi Shaw.    
Poor little Candra.  Nothing had ever prepared them for HIM!    
  
    The Shadow King had come home  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Wolverine appeared out of the shadows.  His eyes were   
wild and his claws bloody.  The crowd of mutates tearing at the   
armoured man melted away before him as he walked forward.    
Not even the boldest of them wanted to face him.  He strode up   
to Magneto and looked him in the eyes; his animal senses   
registering the sickness and pain.  He shoved Magneto aside and   
approached the prone body of Jean Grey-Summers.  He bent   
down and looked at her; senses probing.  Then he let out a bone-  
chilling cry of grief.  
  
    Natasha stepped into the clearing and looked at the   
crowd of mutates and the man whom they had been chasing.    
"It's the end of the line, Magneto."  
  
    "Are you mad woman?  We are allies!"  
  
    "You?  Allied with humans?  I don't think so.  The   
Shadow King has been defeated or his slaves wouldn't be acting   
in this confused manner.  That means there is no reason not to   
take you in."  
  
    "You can try it... and take the consequences."  
  
    Natasha fired and a plastic round burrowed into   
Magneto.  "That has a quarter ounce of plastique in it.  Do you   
want me to set it off?"  
  
    Wolverine continued to cradle Jean's body in his arms,   
tears streaming down his cheeks.    
  
    Gaza stepped forward from the crowd of mutates.  "He is   
ours woman.  Stand aside."  
  
    "Like hell."  Gaza swung his club in a low arc aimed at   
the Black Widow's midsection.  She dodged sideways and fired a   
Widow's sting that took most of his head off.  The mutates   
charged her.  She fired desperately as she was overwhelmed by   
the horde of savages.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    With a flash of light the X-Men were among them.    
Vashkin blinked as the motley crew appeared on his bridge and   
desperately hit the panic button to summon help.  He relaxed   
when he recognised the seven individuals as the X-Men: Storm,   
Cyclops, Bishop, Archangel, Cannonball, Psylocke and Lila   
Cheney (although the status of the last was somewhat suspect).    
What an incredible stroke of fortune; all his plans had just been   
greatly advanced.  
  
    "Professor!" Storm cried, "We were quite worried about   
you!  What has happened here?  Why didn't you contact us..."  
  
    "My children..." Xavier choked with emotion. "My dear   
children, I have tidings that are dire beyond words.  Jean is... I   
mean I felt her..."  
  
    "She's dead isn't she!" Cyclops cried.  "I had hoped this   
was a ruse of some kind... That there was some sort of   
mistake..."  
  
    "I felt her die.  But I have news even more dire.  My   
oldest foe, the Shadow King, has taken control of Magneto's   
mindless body and is using it to fight a war against us.  He is   
doing horrible things, unmentionable things, all in the name of his   
mad dream of hatred.  He must be stopped."  
  
    "Why don't you tell them the whole story Xavier,"   
Danielle Moonstar interjected.  
  
    "Shut her up!" Vashkin barked.  "Forgive us, the girl was   
captured and reprogrammed by the Shadow King.  You can trust   
nothing she says; she will say anything to advance the cause of   
her master."  He watched as security guards dragged the poor   
young woman from the room.  
  
    "I should try to scan her but the psionic dampeners here   
make this impossible," Psylocke observed.  
  
    "The dampeners are here for our own protection.    
Without them he could penetrate here into the very heart of our   
defences," Vashkin explained.  
  
    "Dear children, I must ask you to go forth in the hardest   
mission I have ever asked of you.  You must defeat the Shadow   
King at any cost!"   
  
    "Don't worry Professor, that bastard killed Jean.  I will   
make sure he doesn't walk away from this one!"  Cyclops swore.  
  
    "Magneto is not necessarily our enemy.  It is his body   
that the Shadow King inhabits; perhaps we should consider some   
less lethal option.  We don't kill our own, not unless there is no   
other choice."    
  
    "You don't understand Storm, we must stop him..."  
  
    "If I can do it without killing him?"  
  
    "Then more power to you my child," Xavier said in a   
conciliatory tone of voice.  "I just don't think it is possible."  
  
    "We are X-Men, we specialise in the impossible," Storm   
replied.  
  
    "Storm's right.  We can't kill our own unless there ain't no   
other choice; and, much as ah hate ta admit it, Maggie is one of   
ours.  He was mah teacher for a while an' ah figure we can   
handle him... by other means."  
  
    "He has Rogue under his control as well," Xavier   
cautioned.  
  
    "All the more reason to show mercy.  Lila, bring us down   
there and let's settle this once and for all."  
  
    "I will stay behind and shield you from the Shadow   
King," Xavier volunteered.  
  
    "Okay Stormy, let's get this show on the road!" Lila   
quipped.  
  
    "Don't call me that!"  The X-Men vanished in a flash as   
Lila brought them down to the ruins of Sauron's Citadel.  
  
    "Remember our agreement, Xavier," Vashkin warned.   
"That slut Ororo could jeopardise everything with her righteous   
set of morals!."  
  
    "Don't call her that Vashkin!  And don't worry about her   
conduct, I have the problem well in hand."  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    The marines rounded the hill and looked down on chaos   
as Natasha Romanov desperately struggled against a handful of   
mutates.  Guns roared as the Marines fired on the mutates.    
  
    "Hands in the air, Lady!" Natasha heard.  
  
    "I'm an Avenger..."  Natasha heard a rifle roar as she   
was hit in the shoulder by a spinning piece of metal.  She jolted   
backwards and fell.    
  
    "Who's the runt?" another soldier inquired as Wolverine   
rose from Jean's body, bloodlust coursing through his veins.  He   
charged the Soldiers who had gunned down Natasha, claws   
flashing as he tore into them.  Panic spread as gunshots failed to   
drop him and soldiers watched their comrades being eviscerated.    
Finally, a combination of bullets and rifle butts dragged   
Wolverine to the ground.    
  
    "Christ, he took Joe's entire Platoon with him," one   
marine swore.    
  
    "Quiet," the only surviving NCO barked.  The man was a   
long time SAS veteran and he remembered the feral berserker.    
"We're damn lucky we only lost a dozen or so to him."  
  
    A man in bloody and battered armour crawled into view.    
The assembled soldiers swore and swung weapons to bear on   
him.  Magneto looked at the shredded corpse of Wolverine and   
felt his power return as anger flowed through him.  Too many   
had died.  Seconds later, the surviving soldiers joined their   
comrades in death.   
  
  
[Moments later, same location]  
  
    Rogue rose swiftly into the air. The sedative was   
designed for a human physiology and she was no longer entirely   
human.  She scanned the scarred ruins and saw soldiers crawling   
through the rubble like ants.  In the distance she saw a flurry of   
action and heard the echo of screams.  She headed towards the   
disturbance fearing the worst for her companions; the truth was   
almost as bad.  Magneto stood there glowering, surrounded   
by the torn corpses of a company of soldiers.  She recognised   
Jean's prone form and noticed it wasn't moving.  Then she saw   
Wolverine.  
  
    "Jean!  Logan!"  Rogue cried as she headed down to the   
ground.  
  
    "They are both dead Rogue," Magneto announced, his   
voice dry and crackling with anger.  "But they have both been   
avenged and that is something to take satisfaction in."  
  
    "Satisfaction?  At more people being dead?  Ah think   
ya've finally flipped Magnus.  These are people ya killed here, not   
simple objects of revenge."  
  
    "The humans will learn what it is to dare the wrath of   
Magneto.  Too long have I walked a gentler path and while I   
tried to return to my old ways I didn't have my heart in it.  I   
somehow believed that it was possible to win victories that didn't   
require slaughter.  To enable co-existence without strife.  To find   
allies to call my... my friends.  NO MORE!!!  I will break them,   
human or mutant, all who would destroy my people!  I have been   
soft and look at the result!  Once again, those I loved have been   
destroyed and I have been unable to..." Magneto's rant was cut   
off as an optic blast slammed into him from behind.  He screamed   
and fell and the air was filled with the smell of scorched flesh.  
  
    Rogue looked at the X-Men, standing there almost as if   
they had come out of nowhere.  "There was no call to do that to   
him! Sure he was upset but ah could have convinced him to see   
reason.  What were you all thinking?"  
  
\- - - -  
  
    Aboard the Helecarrier the psionic dampeners were   
lowered and Xavier's mind struck forth like a striking snake and   
seized control of Storm.  She resisted with all the passion and   
fury in her but Xavier was too strong and she was caught   
completely by surprise.  
  
\- - - -  
  
    "We're thinking it is time for you to die, Sugar!" Storm   
said as Xavier released all of her inner demons and drove her into   
a near berserk fury.  Rogue screamed as she was wreathed in a   
wreath of lightening.  
  
    "Storm, what are ya doing?" Cannonball cried.  
  
    "She is doing what she must do, just as I am doing what I   
must do!" Scott replied as he fired another optic blast at   
Magneto's prone form.    
  
    "Scott, what is wrong with you?  This is murder!"   
Warren cried at him.  Neural laced wing feathers shot at Cyclops   
but he was too agile and managed to dodge them.    
  
    "Have you all gone mad?" Bishop bellowed.  
  
    "No, they are doing what they have always done... only   
now I am no longer blind to it.  I let myself think that you were   
better than me... more moral somehow... and so I held back...   
NO LONGER!" Magneto turned and Cannonball screamed.    
Psylocke unleashed her psionic powers against Magneto and was   
drawn into the maelstrom of his thoughts.  His pain and anger   
tore at her psyche like knives until it gave out and collapsed in   
wet, hissing shreds.  She howled like the damned and fell.  
  
[The Air Above]  
  
    Storm hit Rogue again, her lightening burning in Rogue's   
young body.  She screamed in agony and thrashed in the   
confusion of the hurricane force wind around her.  
  
    "Storm!  Why are ya doin' this?  Stop it, please, ah don't   
want ta hurt you!"  
  
    Storm struggled, pitting her will against Xavier's mental   
stranglehold.  *Why are you doing this to me!* she raged to him   
as he continued to use her powers to batter Rogue.    
  
           *A deal I made, to sacrifice some to save the rest,   
Vashkin compared it to an amputation...* Xavier replied, not   
loosening his grip on her one iota.    
  
    Then Rogue was there.  Battered and burned but still   
alive and kicking.  She punched Storm and Storm felt her ribs   
cave in on her left side, puncturing the lung.  She responded by   
hitting Rogue with an even stronger bolt of lightening.  Rogue   
screamed and fell in flames to the ground below.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    "Release the woman Xavier, now it is time for the second   
part of our plan." Vashkin ordered.  
  
    "Isn't there another way..." Xavier pleaded.    
  
    "Weak as always.  If you don't co-operate then they will   
all die, I guarantee it.  You will be the first to go, you have my   
word on it."  Xavier was always a weak man when it came to   
physical violence and he caved into the Russian Colonel's   
demand.  Vashkin pressed a button and a dozen nuclear weapons   
were launched from remote vehicles surrounding the Savage   
Land.  Xavier focused on screening them from observation.  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Wolverine woke slowly, his healing factor as hyper   
charged as it had ever been.  He looked up at the battle raging   
around him.  He quickly took in the casualties.  Cannonball was   
fried to a crisp and Rogue had burns over her body, burns made   
by lightening.  Psylocke was lying at an odd angle, bleeding from   
her nose and ears and drooling.  Archangel lay next to her; he   
had been battered to pieces by debris and was barely breathing.  
  
    Magneto was standing in the centre of three attackers.    
Bishop was turning his energy back on him while Cyclops   
continued to batter him with optic blasts and Storm sucked the   
very air from his surroundings.  He was unnoticed.  Maggie had   
killed Sam and struck down Rogue with lightening, and if he had   
done this then maybe he had killed Jean as well.  Wolverine went   
Berserk.  
      
  
[The Air Above]  
  
    Lila Cheney deposited the prone body of the Black   
Widow on the deck of the Helecarrier.  She looked up as Colonel   
Vashkin approached her.  "Hiya big guy.  I rescued this gal from   
the fracas below and I'll be back in an sec with some more   
wounded."  
  
    "I think not," Vashkin said and drew his pistol.  "Good-  
bye Lila. I would have liked to study you, but your power doesn't   
permit it."  He fired as she desperately teleported.  When the   
flash cleared, she was gone but the deck had blood and bone   
fragments splattered on it.  He had no way of knowing if the   
shot was fatal or not but it was unlikely she would have survived   
that much damage.  
  
  
[Fight with Magneto]  
  
    Wolverine crouched as Cyclops fell before Magneto's   
onslaught of debris.  Bishop kept firing but his shots only added   
to the storm of material battering the X-Men senseless.  Only   
Storm resisted, continuing to suck the very air from the Master   
of Magnetism's lungs.  It was affecting him even more than it   
should; he wasn't going to win this one.  Wolverine was certain.    
  
    But too many times Wolverine had failed to strike when   
he had the chance.  If he had finished it back on Asteroid M then   
perhaps Jean would still be alive.  He stepped forward.  Magneto   
saw him and gestured; for a brief second Wolverine felt a tug at   
his bones, but just for a second.  
  
    "A degaussing field built into your new adamantium?    
How..." Magneto's surprised outburst was cut off as Wolverine   
drove his claws deep into Magneto's chest.  Magneto felt his   
heart and lungs being sliced and realised he wasn't going to   
survive this one after all.  
  
  
[The Air Above]  
  
    Scanner stepped unto the bridge, her mind still reeling   
from the horror of what she had endured and the awful revenge   
she had taken on her attackers.  She had heard enough to know   
what Xavier was doing, enough to loathe him with her very soul.    
She did a running jump at Xavier while she flung every mental   
resource she had into breaking his deception.  Caught by surprise   
he lost contact for a moment, but that was all that was needed.  
  
  
[Battle with Magneto]  
  
    Suddenly Magneto sensed them coming; Nuclear   
Warheads shielded against magnetic pulses.  "Ah Xavier, I never   
suspected you of such ruthlessness."  He activated his newest   
ability, telepathy, and force fed the knowledge of what their   
mentor had been doing to the X-Men.  Then he encased them in   
magnetic bubbles and launched them to safety.  He sunk down   
onto the hard rubble; his talent barely keeping his chest intact.  
  
    "What is happening here?" Major John Holden shouted as   
he led a squad into the clearing.    
  
    "It appears your superiors feel you are expendable,"   
Magneto observed.  "They have fired nuclear weapons at us."  
  
    "What?  Why should we believe you?  Is there anything   
we can do?"  
  
    "We can die together.  Die together and achieve the only   
lasting peace humans and mutants will ever experience... that of   
the grave."  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    Vashkin pistol whipped Dani across the face, hard.  She   
collapsed to the deck.  The little witch had been freed by Scanner   
when she had fried his men.  Idiots!  Didn't they realise the   
dampeners had been turned off!  Scanner herself had already   
been beaten into submission by his men after the psionic   
dampeners had been reactivated.  Leave the bridge for a moment   
and this is what happens.  "Okay Xavier.  One last job and then it   
is all over."  
  
    "What?" the battered and crying Xavier sobbed.  
  
  
[Mid-air]  
  
    Rogue struggled inside her bubble of magnetic force.    
There wasn't time to stop the nuclear weapons but there might be   
enough to save Magneto.  With a blow she hadn't realised she   
was capable of, she broke free and headed back.  
  
  
[Sauron's Citadel]  
  
    Magneto was cradling Jean's body in his arms when   
Rogue came out of nowhere.  She grabbed him by the scruff of   
his neck and began to fly him out of the target zone.    
  
    "Rogue?  Are you insane girl?  There isn't time to get   
clear!"  
  
    "Just drop the bimbo Maggie and ah'll get us outta here."  
  
    He saw the missiles impact and put up the strongest   
shield of which he was capable.  Then the world ended in a burst   
of white light.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    "Here's to many more such happy occasions!" Vashkin   
toasted.  The battered X-Men had put up little struggle.  He   
strutted across the deck.  Everything had worked out perfectly.    
So some deadwood soldiers had been killed and some primitive   
tribes exterminated.  This was scant price to pay to be known as   
the man who killed Magneto... and the man who brought the X-  
Men to justice.  
  
    "Sir!  We are registering a ship in the vicinity; it matches   
some of the specs on the freedom but... it seems really odd...   
almost like..."  
  
    "Like what?" Vashkin snapped.  
  
    "Like it had been turned into a Celestial Battleship?" a   
young woman on the view screen inquired.  "I hear you have   
some of my friends aboard.  Ship's sensor recorded what   
happened.  They better be okay or you'll get a lot worse."  
  
    "I know who you are you little bitch," Vashkin fumed.    
"You realise you are threatening an officer of the UN engaged in   
a lawful mission against terrorists..."  
  
    "Who nukes his own men?  Hardly sounds like a lawful   
mission to me.  I wonder if the media would agree with you, or   
would they see things my way?"  A purple dragon crawled onto   
the woman's shoulder and hissed.    
  
    "What do you want?"  
  
    "I think you had better surrender... NOW.  I'm not really   
happy and from what Ship has told me, well I'm kinda hoping   
you will resist."  
  
    Vashkin shrank before her glare.  He would kill her.  She   
would die screaming for mercy, mercy that he wouldn't give.  He   
gave the order to surrender, even though it almost choked him.    
He had one surprise left.  
  
  
[Somewhere Else]   
  
    I didn't think we were going to make it.  I am still hurt   
worse than I have ever been and dying of this damned virus, but I   
am home at last.  I send both of the women to sickbay   
immediately, at least one should benefit as a result.  I hold off   
going there myself.  Instead I look at a blue-green globe and I   
wonder... wonder if I could have done anything differently.  I   
was given a second chance, somehow. and I swear a deep and   
personal vow; I will make this chance count.  
  
  
[SHIELD Helecarrier]  
  
    Brian Braddock stepped off the deck and headed down,   
bringing the last case of anti-radiation treatment.  It was going to   
be sorely needed down below.  Cannonball followed him down,   
being an External he had recovered from mortal wounds in   
recorded time.  
  
    On the deck Kitty Pryde was embracing her friend Storm.    
"It doesn't matter Ororo, we have done all that we can and we   
can only hope it is enough.  I share your grief but we are X-Men   
and we endure, no matter what."  
  
    "Thank you child.  It means a lot to me right now to have   
somebody to turn too.  Some things happened... that I am not   
sure of... and the implications frighten me.  But please, be careful   
of my ribs.  Bright Goddess, I never realised Rogue packed such   
a wallop, or that she cared bout Magneto enough to go back for   
him like that."  
  
    "The only thing I don't understand is why Magneto let   
you live."  
  
    "Perhaps, at the end of his life, any life had meaning to   
the poor man.  We'll never know for sure... LOOK OUT   
KITTY!"  
  
    Vashkin pulled her head back and went for the throat   
hoping to slice it before she could phase.  Unfortunately for him,   
Storm's warning gave Kitty time to phase.  Before he could do   
anything else he was struck by a bolt of lightening and flung   
across the deck by a sudden wind.  
  
    Ororo strode across the deck and looked down at   
Vashkin as he clung to the side of the ship.  "I thought you were   
safely locked up little man.  Is there no end to your evil?"  
  
    "I had friends..."  
  
    "Who will help you no longer."  
  
    "You're not going to kill me are you?"  
  
    "No.  Whatever else has happened we X-Men don't kill.    
No, I will send you over to Ship and you can try escaping from   
him!"  
  
    "X-Men don't kill?  Really?  Ask Xavier about that   
sometime."  
  
    "Worm."  Storm enveloped Vashkin in a tunnel of air and   
sent him towards ship.    
  
    "Don't let him get to you Storm," Kitty advised.  
  
    "I'm afraid he already has," Storm replied.   
  
  
Epilogue  
  
    I stare off into space and I wonder what it is all about.    
When I joined the X-Men I was a loner and a rebel; without   
friends and family.  I loved that feeling, knowing that you could   
rely on other people.  But what do you do when the family falls   
apart?  When the father to us all proves to be weak and have feet   
of clay?  When the dream is betrayed by it's founder.  
  
    I pop my claws and I stare at the new Adamantium that I   
have acquired and I wonder, why did Apocalypse do this to me?    
What am I to him?  So many questions and too few answers.  
  
    What are we going to do with Scanner?  I don't   
particularly like the idea of locking her up in the basement and   
throwing away the key; I wonder if Chuck is just a little too   
revenge minded to make this decision.  His actions with Storm,   
good reasons or not, will come back to haunt us yet.  Storm is   
tough, she'll get over it; but I'm gonna have to decide if I can   
ignore what he's done.  I'm proud of Kitty though, she showed   
me that our hopes for her would come to fulfilment: she truly is a   
leader of tomorrow.  If only she didn't collect such odd pets; first   
an alien dragon and now a sentient battleship!  
  
    I can take Solace in the low casualties.  Externals are   
tough and Ship has some pretty advanced medical technology.    
The only X-Men we lost were Rogue and Jean.  Jean, just   
thinking about her brings pain into my breast.  I loved her so   
much.  Me, the feral berserker who could take on anyone,   
reduced to a schoolboy whenever she was around.  Losing her is   
a wound that will never heal.  
  
    I have learned of honour since I joined the X-Men.  Of   
duty.  Of giri.  I am bound to them by as many lines of obligation   
as there are stars in the sky.  There are my family and I will stand   
by them no matter how dark the days become and no matter how   
tough it gets.    
  
    It is my path and I am content with it!  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------  
Next: Wolverine #101: Somebody is killing witnesses to the UN   
atrocities in the Savage Land and Wolverine is forced to   
intervene.    
For more of Magneto, see a blink and you miss it cameo in Cable   
#27 and then join Andrew for Uncanny X-men #330 as Magneto   
returns.


	20. Cable #27

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction organisation using characters   
copyright to Marvel Entertainments Group. We do not have their   
permission to use these characters.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------  
Cable #27   "Days of Future Past no More"  
Guest Writer: Chris Delaney  
Editor: Marysia  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
(This issue occurs after Wolverine #100 but before Uncanny X-  
Men #330.)  
  
Prologue [Friends of Humanity Rally]  
  
    Graydon Creed surveyed the howling, felt the screaming   
bloodlust of the assembly roar in his veins.  He felt uplifted with   
the glory of the moment; the ecstasy of their praise was even   
better than sex.  He grinned; his attempt to run for president was   
going better than he had ever imagined.  The poor fools, they   
wouldn't even notice that they had lost their freedom until they   
had handed it to him.  To Graydon Creed.  The son of the most   
savage mutant alive, he had been abandoned by his parents as   
powerless.  Fools!  They would see where real power lies!  
  
    Behind him Senator David R. Henry smiled as the hatred   
of the crowd fed him.  It had been only a couple of days since he   
had been beaten by Phoenix but he was already growing strong.    
How easily the humans hated he thought, how easily they could   
be prodded to hate even more.  Soon he would be back to full   
strength.  Then, then he would lead the new Hellfire club against   
the crippled remains of the X-Men and put a stop to Xavier once   
and for all.     
  
  
Main [Somewhere Else]  
  
    What is it about this century that brings so many of the   
lost wanderers in time to it?  What do they seek here?  It began   
innocently enough, the coming of Kate Pryde into the past in a   
desperate attempt to change the future.  But they kept coming   
like locusts and now they may derail the train of all of history.    
Some, like Bishop, are truly men out of their own time; refugees   
from an alternate reality.  Others, like Nathan Summers, know   
things that they should not know!  Have seen too much of that   
which should remain hidden.  
  
    Child of my greatest ideological foe, you sought to rend   
time asunder and make your father's dream a reality; instead you   
got a nightmare.  A world of slaughter where even I was driven   
insane by the temporal flux.  I cannot permit this and you will be   
the instrument of my undoing of the past and the future.  Scream   
Legion, and let your cries echoed helplessly throughout my   
domain.  For you will die that the future may live.  
  
  
[FOH Rally]  
  
    Cable glanced warily around at the assembled crowd.    
Reverend Stryker was speaking of the trials and tribulations of   
his time in prison and his quest to purge the world of the godless,   
unclean mutants.  He was reminded of a catchy phrase he heard   
once "One dog howls and the pack starts baying, Blood for the   
Gods it's cheaper than praying".  It described what was going on   
here perfectly.  "Keep close," he muttered to Domino as he   
edged closer to the podium. Too long had he followed Xavier's   
way, was this the result?  He had come to the past to control the   
future; not to watch madmen destroy his own kind.  
  
    For a few moments he hesitated.  His father wouldn't   
understand and neither would his step-mother Jean.  But his real   
mother Madelyne would have; she had the same reaction to the   
atrocities of Genosha; and he was as much his mother's son as his   
father's.  Domino had argued for this so persuasively.  No, it   
would be cowardly to back out at this point.  He reached under   
his coat and thumbed off the safety on his plasma pistol; checking   
the exits carefully.    
  
    Perfect, three shots would kill the three speakers on he   
podium.  Senator David R. Henry (he was the one who had   
convinced him to alter his plans at the last moment, from   
mayhem to murder. A deep feeling of unease and disquiet filled   
him when he even looked at the man, almost as if something evil   
and boated lay behind his eyes), Graydon Creed (the man who   
would be King) and Reverend Stryker (a bloody butcher who   
had once nearly killed both Xavier and Magneto).  He glanced at   
Domino; she was his back-up but seemed strangely distracted.  
  
    He dismissed his doubts and angled for the best shot.    
The hatred in the room wasn't normal in the least.  He had come   
here to break up a gathering of bigots and found a source of evil   
as vile as he had ever seen.  Only in the death camps of the future   
had he felt such a psychic residue of fear and hatred and pure   
evil.  This had to be stopped and he would pay any price to do   
so.  
  
  
[Egypt]  
  
    Tyler smiled as the report came in from his wife.  So, his   
so moral father had finally decided to show his true stripes.    
Tyler wasn't surprised; Cable had been a ruthless soldier in the   
future and had never hesitated to do what was necessary.  Never   
hesitated...   
  
    He bit back bitter tears as he remembered his own father   
gunning him down.  He had been captured by Stryfe and brain-  
washed.  But inside his skull he had been screaming for Cable to   
help him.  For Cable to do anything for him.  But Cable had   
betrayed his love and trust and had shot him like you would a   
rabid dog.  His own father...  
  
    But weakness like that was past now.  He was strong.    
He was the heir of Apocalypse.  The fool had known Domino   
was married but had never ferreted out the details; that she had   
married an arm's dealer by the name of Tolliver.  That she had   
whored for her husband so he could wreak vengeance on the   
man he hated most in the universe.  It had been a plan long since   
hatched, he had programmed her with a sleeper personality to   
cover her true personality and then tortured the sleeper merci-  
lessly.  All so that this could be done.  It was rare that he   
indulged himself in such long term planning but this was a case   
where it was going to pay off in spades.  
  
    He gave Domino her instructions.  
  
  
[FOH Rally]  Cable's POV  
  
    I was ready.  Domino had suggested a last minute   
alteration in plans, I didn't really see the need as all it altered   
was the order in which I took out the targets, I ignored her   
suggestion; I could feel the evil that the Senator was emitting.  It   
filled the room.  If he was a psi, as I suspected, then he would   
know as soon as I fired that I was here and I stood no chance   
against him in psionic combat.  I wished I could telepathically   
contact Domino but the psionic static in the room was too   
immense to overcome.  I reached into my trenchcoat and pulled   
out the plasma pistol.  From the corner of my eye I could see   
security reacting as I fired.  Senator Henry's head exploded,   
spraying blood and brains over the podium.  I went for my   
second snap shot at Graydon Creed but something struck me in   
the back and my shot missed him and hit a body guard as well.  I   
kept firing, trying to spray the stage when I felt white hot agony   
strike me in the lower back.  I screamed, I just couldn't help   
myself, and fell.  My telepathic senses winked out but I could   
sense a distant scream of rage as something hideous faded from   
the room.    
  
    NO!  Not like this; what went wrong?  Where was   
Domino?  I tried to use my mutant abilities but something was   
blocking them.  Then I saw her kneeling down over me.  She   
whispered, "I can't believe how stupid you were Cable, to trust   
me in the least.  My husband, Tyler, sends his greetings.  I'll be   
going back to him now and frankly I can't wait, he's a much   
better lover than you, Sweetheart."  I try to grab her by the   
throat but she melts away into the crowd.  Then the security   
forces are there; clubbing me into submission.  At least I got the   
bastard, at least I got him.    
  
    They drag me out, bloody and battered, hurt as bad as I   
have ever been.  I can hear the yells of reporters as my identity is   
splashed all over the news.  Mutant terrorist maims Presidential   
Candidate (did I get Creed?) and kills Senator.  Links to the   
fringe group of mutant freedom fighters the X-Men.  Why did I   
ever trust her?  
  
  
[Somewhere Else]  
  
    Legion screams as he disintegrates into the time stream.  I   
laugh a loudly with primal joy as he finally dies only to be reborn   
and die again.  Then I see it.  A temporal traveller and I   
intercept.  She screams as her voyage to the future is abruptly   
ended. I look at her and smile.  Rachel Summers, nineteen years   
old and having just sacrificed herself to enable that impostor   
Britannic to thrive.  I guess there won't be a Mother Askani to   
challenge me in the distant future any more, it is a strange thing   
time travel.  
  
    Silly fools, to challenge Apocalypse is to court death.    
But what is this; there is an anomaly in her genetic structure.    
She is not who she claims to be or at least not who she thinks is.    
Child of a destroyed future, I will give you a chance at making   
life out of death.  To earn a place in this reality in mortal combat.   
  
   
    For this I will need the man Cable.    
  
  
[Maximum Security Government Holding Cell]  
  
    Cable lay sprawled on the floor of his cell.  They had   
analysed him nearly to death and drawn all of the appropriate   
conclusions.  They had not been able to contact Charles Xavier   
for comment but a quick discussion with Hank McCoy had   
confirmed he was who they thought he was.  He didn't know   
what was worse: the beatings or when people he had known told   
him how he had broken faith with them.  They hadn't felt the evil,   
they hadn't felt the hatred.  They wouldn't understand what it was   
that he had done.  But he died inside every time he saw the   
disappointment in their eyes.  
  
    He coughed a dry wracking cough and ignored the   
swellings that had begun on him.  It was legacy virus, his vestiges   
of telepathic talent that he could exercise through the power   
inhibitor had even told him when they had infected him with it.    
Less than 12 hours ago, when he had first come in, at the order   
of Agent Gyrich. They wanted to study it's effects on a mutant   
from beginning to end and it appeared he was their guinea pig.   
  
    He couldn't believe that yesterday he was with a woman   
who had loved him; betrayed him.  That only a few days ago he   
had felt so cocky after fooling Deadpool and had felt so   
invincible.  Now he was going to die a slow, painful death at the   
hands of sadists.  How quickly life could turn.  
  
  
[Somewhere Else]  
  
    The more I study her the more certain it becomes.  A   
scan of her memories, now while she is unconscious and cannot   
resist, tells of her psi-link to Wolverine that fateful night he   
almost killed her.  Other anomalies persist: the time Ahab turned   
Cyclops into a hound and he couldn't sense her; something that   
was impossible for they should have been genetically linked.    
Memories of her childhood; guilty glances of her mother to the   
berserker Wolverine.  The evidence was all there, confirmed by a   
genetic map.  Rachel Summers wasn't a Summers at all; she was   
the daughter of Phoenix and Wolverine!  
  
    So, Sinister thinks Scott Summers is the key to the   
future.  His mating with Grey produced Cable.  My son's mating   
with her produced Rachel.  I will match the two of them together   
and we will see whose bloodline is more fit.  
  
  
[Maximum Security Government Holding Cell]  
  
    Cable groaned.  They had taunted him with the know-  
ledge that Rev. Stryker was coming by later today.  Cable tried   
to shut out the noise from the television set in the hallway; Rev.   
Stryker was giving a speech condemning mutant terrorism.  He   
had failed and there was nobody who would ever take him in.  
  
    The news continued, telling the story of a doomed UN   
mission that had claimed the lives of thousands of soldiers and   
resulted in the deaths of many notable people; including Nick   
Fury, the mutant terrorist from the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants   
Rogue (did they never forget, never forgive?) and the mutant   
overlord Magneto.  Who else was lost he wondered?  He had felt   
an echo like the death knell of one he knew but he couldn't place   
it; he was just too blasted weak.  
  
    "Stab his eyes!" he cursed thinking of Tyler.  He had   
perverted a simple strike into a disaster.  But then that was his   
intention wasn't it.  He felt a tingle as a teleporter smashed   
through the shields of the holding cell and spirited him away to   
an unknown fate.  Truth was, he no longer cared what that fate   
was.    
  
  
[Somewhere Else]  
  
    Apocalypse cursed his body as he forced himself to walk   
across the room.  His death at the hands of his son had weakened   
him greatly and he would be a long time recovering.  He stared at   
his two captives as they slowly woke up.    
  
    "Apocalypse!" Cable swore.  
  
    "Indeed.  I am glad that you know me Nathan.  I have   
been waiting for this day for a long time."  
  
    "I'll resist you to the end butcher.  The future is not   
immutable and you can be killed..."  
  
    "Ah, but it is.  For I, Apocalypse, have made it so.  Look:   
see the last death throes of Legion; Xavier's bastard son as he   
spasms and dies.  Do you know what he is doing?  He is   
releasing all of his temporal energy to create a time storm."  
  
    "You're mad Apocalypse.  The consequences..."  
  
    "Do not concern me.  What is wrong Dayspring?  Do you   
not have the courage to face an unknown future?  For that is   
what I have done!  I have ensured that no matter what transpires   
we can only deal with it one day at a time.  That there will be no   
more jaunts into the future or the past.  We all stand equal once   
again."  
  
    "But what about us?  If you have done what you say then   
why are we still around?" Rachel inquired.  
  
    "You are anomalies and as such can be selectively   
eliminated."  He released them and they tumbled into an arena.    
"You are to fight to the death to determine who has the right to   
survive.  Who is strong enough to prove they are worthy to   
continue to exist?  Only one of you will walk from this pit...   
which one will it be!"  
  
    "Sorry kiddo!" Rachel snarled "We're X-Men!  We don't   
kill our own... ever!"  
  
    Cable measured Rachel looking for a sign of weakness.    
Then he stopped himself, this sort of ruthlessness was what got   
him into this trouble in the first place.  "She's right Apocalypse!    
We don't kill our own!"  
  
    "I notice you had to hesitate Cable.  To think about it.    
What does that say for your precious morality?"  
  
    Rachel ignored the war of words and focused her   
concentration on her telepathy.  She no longer had access to the   
Phoenix Force but she was still terribly strong.  Her frantic   
message for help seemed doomed to failure; until she met the   
mind of a man who had never been a telepath until the Legacy   
virus had unleashed his potential.  
  
      
[Asteroid M]  Magneto's POV  
  
    I can feel her call for help, I can feel her calling to me and   
I ask myself why I should care that she is.  I feel the scars of   
Wolverine's claws on my chest and the ravages of the disease   
that wrack my body.  I look across the room to Jean's body and   
Rogue's ravaged figure.  I am not strong enough for this.  I am   
too weak.  But there is nobody else.  And he won't be expecting   
me.  I summon my helm and step forth into battle.  I had thought   
I had found peace but the only peace I will ever find is that of the   
grave.  
  
  
[Somewhere Else]  
  
    The arena was filled with crackling energy bolts that fired   
across it at random.  Rachel had managed to deflect them up   
until now with her telekinetic ability but she was tiring rapidly.    
She whispered to Cable that help was on the way but he didn't   
believe.  Hope was something lost to him on the day he chose to   
cross the line one last time.  It had to be done he reminded   
himself thinking of the sick horror he had faced that day.  He had   
been as scared as he had ever been but he had faced his fear and   
overcome it.  But then everything had fallen apart and now he   
was going to die here at the feet of his greatest enemy.  
  
    Apocalypse was laughing at the plight of the two   
refugees from the future as they foolishly aided each other.    
Didn't they realise that he was true to his word; only one would   
survive and Rachel was much stronger.  She would realise the   
true path, her blood would sing it to her, and she would kill   
Cable.  It was inevitable.  
  
    Then the ceiling exploded and a figure in red armour tore   
into the room like a bat out of hell.  Impossible, Magneto was   
dead; he had died in the Savage Land.  Apocalypse cursed; he   
wasn't ready for this, still too weak.  He unleashed his wings and   
sprayed the room with spikes of death but Magneto deflected   
them with a magnetic shield.  Damn him, why didn't he say   
anything.  He fired a force bolt that would have shattered a   
building but Magneto turned it aside effortlessly.  The room itself   
began to attack him as everything metal came alive and gouged   
at him.  His attacker remain silent, eyes blazing with magnetic   
fire.  Apocalypse fled the room, there were resources elsewhere   
that would enable him to fight back.  Time was on his side, the   
future was bright for him for time was still on his side; he would   
triumph.  There would be another day and he would make   
Magneto pay for this humiliation.  Pay in blood.  
  
    Magneto lowered himself into the shattered remains of   
the arena.  He looked at the two occupants clutching each other.    
"Come with me if you want to live," he said in a flat, emotionless   
voice.  And Cable saw hope once more.  
  
  
Epilogue [Asteroid M]  Cable's POV  
  
    I don't begrudge Ray her decision to stay on Asteroid M;   
Lord knows I would too if I could.  But I have responsibilities   
elsewhere; not the least of which is finding a cure for this damned   
plague.  I cough and feel guilty; I never liked to show weakness.  
  
    We are even now, Magneto and I.  He tried to kill me   
once but he saved me and I figure that clears the slate.  He is a   
good man and I must admit; if there is a dream that most speaks   
to my own it is his.  Xavier never understood that the world is   
forged in blood and fire not in poetic ideals.    
  
    It is nice to know I have a home to return to and I will   
find access to the Shiar technology here a boon, especially the   
teleportation equipment.  But that is the least of what I have   
gained.  I have been through the fire of betrayal and I think, at   
last, I understand what drove both Stryfe and Tyler mad.  But at   
the end I saw a man who has never given up hope.  Who was still   
willing to carry on no matter what the cost was.  This man, who   
had all the reason in the world to give up or turn bitter, who   
risked his life to save us from a madman.  I realise that we fought   
the same foe on opposite sides of the world and we both paid   
great prices to overcome him.  With threats like that out there we   
cannot afford to be weak and divided.  A time of war has come.  
  
    So I do something I never thought I would do.  I swear   
fealty to Magneto.  The fealty of an Askani Warrior is not that of   
service and it brings as many obligations to the receiver as the   
giver, but it is the start of beginning a new path.  I figure I'll   
look Blaquesmith up, the little runt was wiser than he knew.  
  
  
Next Issue:  More FOH fun as they play up the events of this   
issue.   


	21. Uncanny X-Men #330

**************************************************  
We're the X-Writers. Marvel makes comics and gets paid for it,   
whilst we write our own versions of those comics, and get   
nothing for it other than wrist cramp, eye strain, and the   
adoration of the masses. And we don't get nearly enough of   
that. So suing us would be a wasted effort. So don't do it.   
Thanks very much.  
  
**************************************************    
    Uncanny X-Men #330 - Hoping and Dreaming  
    Written by Andrew Wheeler   
    With thanks to Chris Delaney and Art Lasher  
    Edited by Marysia  
 **************************************************   
  
 The sky, a deepening dark blue, powdered with purple streaks   
of cloud, pressed hard upon the world this cold evening. It was   
a quiet night, still and hollow. The low mists rolled on the   
lawns, chasing the sunset. A small parade of birds danced in the   
air, circling, swinging, gliding. A deer grazed somnolently,   
peacefully, from a low verge of sweet green shrubs, and a   
squirrel raced out from the trees, pursued by it's mate. They ran   
along the grass, stopping and starting, teasing, playing. The   
female scrambled up the side of a grey stone marker, a grave,   
the resting place of young Illyana Rasputin, one of the first   
victims of Legacy. The male was about to follow, but then   
heard a noise. A car, casting it's light in an arc, and spotlighting   
on him. The male ran, leaving his mate alone. The car stopped,   
and a figure emerged, a bundle in her hands.  
  
 She stepped over to the grave and bobbed down to lay the   
flowers on the icy slab. Then she noticed the little squirrel   
cautiously watching her. She gave a little smile and whispered:   
'Hey, shugah.' The squirrel gave a little nod, then turned and   
ran. She too left the graveside and returned to the car.   
  
 'You sure this is a good idea?' she asked.   
  
 'It needs to be done.' replied the passenger.  
  
 'Ah don't doubt that, but does it need to be done now? You   
ain't a well man.'  
  
 'I'm not getting any better.' he replied.   
  
 - - - -   
  
 When they reached the mansion itself Bishop was waiting for   
them. Rogue climbed out of the car. 'Ah, so you're the intruder,   
eh?' he asked.  
  
 'Intruder now am ah?' replied Rogue. 'Nice to have such a   
warm welcome back to the old place.'  
  
 'We assumed you were dead.' said Bishop.  
  
 'Ah got better.' claimed Rogue. 'There are some amazing   
medical facilities available if you know the right people.' She   
crossed around to the other side of the car and opened the   
passenger door. She offered her hand. For a moment there was   
no reaction from inside the vehicle. Bishop strained to see who   
this passenger was, but the reflection of the silver moon   
obscured his view. Then a hand took Rogue's, and a man   
emerged. A man Bishop had never known to be anything less   
than evil. He raised his gun. It flew from his hand into the far   
off trees.  
  
 'Do not patronise me, Bishop, I haven't the time.' said   
Magneto. 'Tell Xavier I am here. We have much to discuss.'   
  
 'I will not let you enter this house.' claimed Bishop.   
  
 'I used to run this house, Bishop, I will not be held from   
entering.' claimed Magneto. Bishop noticed he looked paler   
than he should, and he was walking with a stick, and a little   
help from Rogue on his arm. 'Legacy, Bishop.' said Magneto,   
reading the surprise in his face. 'I am in the last stages of a long   
fight with Legacy. This could even be the last chance I have to   
visit my old friend.'  
  
*Let him in, Bishop.* said a voice within his mind, the voice   
of Professor Charles Xavier. *He is right. There is much to   
discuss.*  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Charles waited in his study, a whisky in his hand, trying to   
order his thoughts. Again he had taken desperate measures to   
destroy this man, again he had survived. Charles realised he was   
shaking. He was afraid. Was it because of what Magneto could   
do to him, or because of what he had done to himself? Standing   
at the window was Storm, a trusting friend and ally, and the   
woman he had abused in his attempts to salvage a dream. She   
watched through the glass as the two ghosts entered the house.  
  
 'Are you glad to see him alive, Charles?' she asked. 'After all,   
you only killed him under duress, no?'  
  
 Charles did not respond. He could see Storm's face reflected   
on the window, intense, focused, waiting for the reply.   
  
 'They would have killed you, after all.' added Storm. 'You had   
no choice. You had to kill them. You had to hurt me. Or   
Vashkin would have shot you.'  
  
 'And the two girls.' added Charles in a whisper. 'I had to think   
of them.'  
  
 'Of course.' agreed Storm. She faced him now, leaning back   
against the window frame. 'For those two girls it was worth it.   
The lives, the wreckage, the damage. For the three of you, it   
was worth it.'  
  
 'I have been through this with you too many times. If we   
wanted to protect the world from the Shadow King...'  
  
 'You went too far.'  
  
 '...then we had to take harsh action. We had to stop him in   
spite of the huge cost. I knew it would not be easy to bear...'  
  
 'Too far, Charles'  
  
 '...but it was the only option available to me. When so much is   
at stake, the only answer lies in...'  
  
 'YOU WENT TOO FAR!' she screamed. At first he could say   
nothing as her cat-like eyes cut into him. Then Charles stared   
straight back at her, attempting to regain control.  
  
 'I did no more than you did to that Morlock girl.' he stated.  
  
 Storm's nostrils flared. Her breathing was heavy, her   
expression grim. She pulled herself away, stood at full height   
once again, and stared down at him. Then she headed for the   
door.  
  
 'Storm!' shouted Charles. 'I would like you to stay.'  
  
 She stopped and turned.   
  
 'In recent months I have had to make some very difficult   
decisions. One more decision lies ahead. I have to know what   
direction to take next. Stay, Storm. Help me make a decision.'   
said Charles.  
  
 'Should I ask Scott to join us?'  
  
 'No.' replied Charles. 'Leave him be. I'm not sure I want him   
here.'  
  
 'What do you mean?'   
  
 Charles glanced past Storm, waiting for the door to open, for   
Magneto to enter. He wasn't there. Charles took a sip of   
whisky, and focused on Storm once more. 'He will not help,   
Storm. Not now. I raised that boy to follow one path. If I want   
to leave it, he will hold me back.'  
  
 Storm nodded. 'I will see what is keeping Magneto from   
joining us.' she decided as she left the room.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Beast lay his head in his hands and stared mournfully at the   
computer screen in front of him. They had made a mistake. A   
huge, huge mistake. Xavier had told the world at a WHO   
conference that Legacy was not the great threat it appeared to   
be. He was attempting to stem the tide of anti-mutant hysteria   
the disease was creating. Hank had played his part, so had Dr   
Renee Majcomb, even Valerie Cooper from the US govern-  
ment. But they did not know, even then, how unstoppable   
Legacy was. Now Luna Maximoff had the disease, and if a girl   
with her genetic structure, a hybrid of inhuman and mutant, was   
vulnerable, then no-one was safe. By deceiving the world   
Xavier had perhaps hindered the search for a cure, and ensured   
that the viroid would be ignored for too long by those who   
could help. And when the truth was revealed, Xavier would pay   
the cost for his mistake. He would be disgraced by the world's   
medical community. His every word would be discredited, and   
the mutants of the world would lose their chief spokesman. A   
huge mistake.  
  
 'Is there something wrong, Dr McCoy?' asked Quicksilver,   
looking up from the bedside of his sleeping daughter.  
  
 'Oh, no.' replied Hank. 'No, nothing at all. Just tired, that's all.   
  
You missed Crystal in here earlier.'  
  
 'Oh?' said Pietro. He turned back to Luna. Beast thought he   
had seen what few facets of Pietro Maximoff he ever would,   
from cold and rational to cold and insane. In this past month he   
had seen such love and tenderness in his face, in those normally   
icy blue eyes, that he could hardly have believed it was the same   
man. But about one thing he was still cold.  
  
 'Why don't you just talk to her?' asked Beast. 'I'm sure   
whatever the problem is you can work it out.'  
  
 'What problem?' replied Quicksilver. 'There's no problem.'  
  
 And that, decided Beast, was probably the truth. The other   
thing he had witnessed these past few weeks was a marriage   
being strained to breaking point. How many Avengers, friends,   
had died in that terrible battle with the Shadow King? With   
Pietro's father joining the list of casualties, and  his only child   
dying from Legacy, it was easy to see why his relationship with   
his wife, already one with a history of storms, was feeling the   
pressure. There was no *one* problem. They were simply both   
too much on edge, too emotionally tried, to have any time or   
consideration for each other. Perhaps Pietro really hadn't   
noticed how far apart they had drifted.   
  
 Beast focused back on the computer screen in front of him,   
and reached for another 'Dunkin' Donut'. He looked up as he   
heard someone entering the room. 'Oh my stars and garters!' he   
gasped.  
  
 Quicksilver glanced back over his shoulder at the door.  
  
 'Hello, Pietro.' said Magneto.   
  
 - - - -  
   
 She couldn't remember feeling this uncomfortable about the   
old place in a long while. It wasn't the ghosts of the past that   
haunted them now, but the far more threatening present. She   
had come up to the cupola for air, it was stifling inside, every   
room engulfed in that awful atmosphere of despair. She didn't   
want to come back. She was only here because of Magneto, too   
ill to come alone, too proud to risk falling. Rachel could have   
come, of course, but had been even more unwilling than Rogue.   
Rachel had made a resolution. The first person she should face   
would have to be her 'father'. And she wasn't ready for that yet.  
Rogue breathed in the cold air, sending a chill down her back,   
then gave out a long sigh.  
  
 And she saw him. Sitting on the rooftop, brooding to himself.   
She was about to call out before she realised that...  
  
 He got to his feet and turned to head back inside, his eyes on   
his feet, muttering something in Creole. It was only when he   
was up at the cupola that he noticed her, only when there was   
no more than a few feet between them that he saw her.   
  
 She stared. She stopped herself staring. She looked at the   
moon, at her hands, back at him, at the floor, oh hell, just   
anywhere. Just don't stare. But he was staring. Staring straight   
at her. No shame, no guilt.  
  
 He reached a hand out to stroke her hair. She looked up, into   
his hated dark eyes, those eyes that bore his sin. And she knew   
again that she couldn't trust him, and she backed away.   
  
 'Chere.' implored Gambit.  
  
 'No, Remy.' replied Rogue.   
  
 He vaulted into the cupola to join her. He tried again, he   
reached for her gloved hand with his. He raised it and gave it a   
soft kiss.   
  
 'Remy.' whispered Rogue.  
  
 'Oui, ma chere?' replied Gambit.  
  
 'Kiss this.' she said, punching him hard in the gut with her other   
hand. With that she flew away.  
  
 - - - -   
   
 Magneto sat at the foot of Luna's bed. He had never spent   
much time with his grand-daughter. He had never had the   
chance.   
  
 'How is she?' asked Magneto. 'I hear she is afflicted with the   
same terrible disease that ravages my own body.   
  
 Beast craned over Magneto. 'Uh... not quite. You appear to   
have Variant 1,  the version that killed Illyana Rasputin. No   
physical manifestations, you see. Luna has Variant 3, the   
version that afflicts non-mutants. The difference being that...'  
  
 'Shut up, McCoy.' muttered Magneto.   
  
 Beast sighed and returned reluctantly to his desk.   
  
 'I should have known you weren't dead.' said Quicksilver.  
  
 'Not so far.' replied Magneto. 'But there is still hope yet. I   
would not even dare guess how much longer I can fight this   
virus. I walk with a stick when I am not reduced to a wheel-  
chair. Sometimes I cannot even breathe without help from a   
respirator. My life nears it's end, Pietro, but I refuse to die   
without once coming back to you.'  
  
 'You expect forgiveness father?' asked Pietro. 'You are too late  
for that.'   
  
 'I expect no such thing. I don't even apologise for how I   
treated you and your sister.' Magneto argued. 'If it weren't for   
me you would never have grown into the strong, able man I see   
today. I was an appalling father, I give you that, but I could still   
make you into someone to be proud of.'   
  
 'At any cost.' added Pietro. 'Always the way.'  
  
 'Not at any cost, Pietro. There is always some cost. You must   
simply be willing to pay. I will not pay any cost, but I will pay   
highly. I lost my children because of the way I behaved. When   
you found I was your true father I knew I could never have you   
as my son. I am still willing to pay that price if it means you will   
survive the troubles that lie ahead.'  
  
 Magneto turned to Luna. 'I lost more than my children.' he   
realised. 'I lost her too.'  
  
 'She's not dead, father.' snapped Pietro. 'Don't talk about her as   
if she were already dead. There will be a way to cure her.'  
  
 'It is I who is already dead.' argued Magneto. 'Can't you see   
that? I confess, though, that I hold out little hope for her. She is   
a human. The disease attacks every cell in her body. If she were   
at least a mutant, or an inhuman, she may fight longer, the virus   
could be more localised.'  
  
 'Nonsense.' muttered Beast without looking up.  
  
 'It is at least a theory. It at least gives us hope.' claimed   
Magneto. 'If you had something better then perhaps I would not   
be in this condition.'  
  
 'Blaming the physician and not the disease, Magneto? How   
very out of character.' said Beast.   
  
 'You are lucky my grand-daughter needs you, McCoy, it's the   
only thing keeping you alive.'   
  
 'Whereas your vitriol ensures your heart keeps pumping.'   
countered Beast.   
  
 They were interrupted by a self-conscious cough. Psylocke   
stood at the door.  
  
 'Come in, Elizabeth.' said Beast wearily.  
  
 'I... I'm fine here thank you.' said Psylocke. 'I only came to   
inform Magneto that Xavier is waiting to receive him.'   
  
 'I will come when I am ready.' replied Magneto. Psylocke   
waited for an optimistic second, then left.  
  
 The room remained in silence for a moment. Luna had not   
been disturbed by raised voices. Beast resumed his work.   
Quicksilver and Magneto locked eyes. It was ever to be   
Quicksilver that blinked first.   
  
 'You still haven't told me what you want from me.' said Pietro.  
  
 'Want? I don't want anything. I don't crave forgiveness or love   
from you. I simply need to know that you will survive.' said   
Magneto.  
  
 'I will manage.' claimed Quicksilver.   
  
 'I know. I am glad.' said Magneto. He rose to leave.   
  
 'I'll help you to the study.' said Quicksilver, placing an arm   
around his father's shoulders. Magneto shrugged him off.   
Quicksilver put the arm back, and took his father's hand. 'I will   
help you to the study.' he repeated.  
  
 Magneto sighed. 'Thank you.' he said begrudgingly.  
  
 - - - -    
   
 As soon as she was clear of the Infirmary Psylocke fell against   
the wall and shut her eyes. Legacy. It had killed her once, or   
rather, the woman who had possessed her body, and she would   
never suffer that pain again. If Revanche would rather take her   
own life, how much better could Psylocke fare?   
  
 'Psylocke?'   
  
 She opened her eyes to find Bishop standing in front of her.  
  
 'Are you well?' he asked.  
  
 'Yes.' said Psylocke a little too quickly. 'Thank you, Bishop, I   
am fine. Just clearing my mind.'  
  
 'Ah.' said Bishop. He knew all too well how important that   
could be. His mind was adrift in half-remembered dreams,   
memories of a world that had never been. He could never grasp   
hold of them, each time he tried they slipped away. But they   
would return, taunting him as he slept, disturbing him when he   
awoke. And yet one memory returned frequently. The memory   
of his love for Psylocke. No, not Psylocke... Kwannon.   
  
 'Elisabeth?'  
  
 'Yes, Bishop?'  
  
 'I need your help.'  
  
   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
 Storm stood in front of the Professor's study awaiting   
Magneto's arrival. The front door swung open and a cold wind   
blew down the hall. Rogue stood outside, looking in.  
  
 Storm didn't know what to do, didn't know how much Rogue   
knew about the circumstances of her attack in the Savage Land.   
But she knew better than to hide. 'Come in, Rogue.' she said at   
last.  
  
 Rogue stepped inside and walked up towards Storm. From the   
other direction Magneto and Quicksilver approached.   
  
 'I'm sorry, Rogue. It wasn't me, it was...'  
  
 'Ah know what happened.' said Rogue. 'Ah know you were   
controlled. Ah just ain't sure how much.'  
  
 'Rogue, I could never...'  
   
 'What? Hurt me? Hate me? Sure.' argued Rogue. ' You've   
admitted before that you resent me Storm. For what ah did to   
Carol. So don't pretend there wasn't something of you in that   
fight.'  
  
 'Rogue, I cannot forget Carol, or what you did to her, but I   
would not kill you for that. It would achieve nothing.' insisted   
Storm, opening the door of the study. Magneto freed himself   
from his son's hold and followed Storm, leaving Quicksilver   
outside as the door clicked shut. He stood face to face with   
Rogue. Neither one of them was comfortable here.  
  
 'You with the X-Men now Pietro?' asked Rogue.   
  
 'I don't know where I am.' replied Quicksilver.    
  
 - - - -   
  
 Magneto took a seat. Storm returned to her perch by the   
window. Both turned to Charles Xavier and waited for him to   
begin.  
  
 'How are you Magnus?' he inquired. 'Can I get you a drink?'  
  
 'No thank you Charles.' replied Magnus. 'I am alive, that is as  
good as I can hope for.   
  
 'Good.' said Charles, almost to himself. It had been a long time  
since these two men had sat down to talk, and in that time they   
had allowed too much to happen. 'You... you do understand   
what happened? It was not my choice to make, Vashkin forced   
my hand...'  
  
 'So you followed the hard line. You walked a well trodden   
path. Yes, I see that Charles. And I accept it. But the question   
is, do you?'  
  
 'What I did was wrong. I... went too far.'   
  
 'Perhaps. But then in some ways you did not go far enough.'   
claimed Magnus. 'If you had disposed of the Shadow King long   
before, used your infamous mental powers to find him, to   
destroy him once and for all...'  
  
 'I believed he *was* destroyed.'  
  
 'You should have made certain.'  
  
 'Death is not the answer to every problem, Magnus. We can't   
destroy everything that stands in our way. Why must that   
always be the answer with you?' Charles complained.  
  
 'It is not. My views have changed. I am not the same man who   
once led the Brotherhood.  I know that in some situations a   
degree of restraint must be used. What *you* fail to see is that   
often it is necessary to use all the force at ones disposal to   
crush the enemy before they strike at you. You are the one who   
will refuses to make compromises, Charles, not I.' claimed   
Magnus.  
  
 'I'm not a terrorist. One of us must find the time to teach, to   
speak out, to look for the sympathetic ear. We cannot both use   
the fist to convey our message.'  
  
 'Open your eyes, Charles. The X-Men are a private army. I   
hear you even have your own secret underground. Many of   
your actions of late have shown that you realise the truth, even   
as you refuse to recognise it. You have hidden behind noble   
words all your life, Charles. For once, think about your actions.'  
  
 Charles looked to Storm for support. She offered none.   
  
 'I thought I was entering into this conversation with an open   
mind.' Charles confessed. 'I know I have made mistakes, I   
wanted to know if I could avoid them in the future by forging a   
new way forward. In my mind I was agreeing with much of   
what you have said. But now I find myself here in this room,   
talking to you, and all the old questions return. I can't do it   
Magnus. I can't follow your path.'  
  
 'No, Charles. Not my path. This path was formed where our   
two paths met. It is _our_ path. If you refuse to travel down it,   
you can never move forward.' said Magnus.  
  
 'Every day I question my dream.' said Charles. 'Every day I   
have asked if I am fit to hold it. After what I have done to you,  
to Storm, to so many before, after all the people I have   
abused, failed, betrayed, I could only wonder if I had the right  
to pursue it. But I realise now that, if I don't carry on my   
dream, no-one will.'  
  
 'Then there is nothing more to say.' said Magnus. He struggled   
to rise from his chair.  
  
 'Wait.' insisted Storm. The lighting in the room was dim, and  
it was the light from the moon that lit her, casting her shadow  
across the floor towards the artificial glow of the standard lamp  
where it was diffused. 'I will not let you end like this. Charles,   
think. You say you are not the terrorist, you say that you alone   
may carry your dream. Then what of Magneto?  When this   
virus consumes him there will be no one to act as *he* would.   
If he is right, if you are wrong, then everything we have fought   
to achieve is wasted.'  
  
 'I will not abandon my dream, Storm.' insisted Charles. 'I   
cannot abandon the hope that it may one day be possible to   
achieve peaceful coexistence via _peaceful_ means.'  
  
 'It is a wonderful dream, Charles, but what if, in ten years or in   
a hundred, still nothing has come of it? What if the mutant   
situation continues to get worse? Legacy is turning the world   
against us more than it has ever been before. Cable assassinated   
a US senator only weeks ago. The Shadow King threatened the   
world with nuclear weapons. Genosha is torn by civil war. We   
*cannot* afford to make a mistake now. We have to be sure   
that we are doing the right thing.'  
  
 Charles scanned across from Storm to Magnus. Between them  
his eyes swept the walls. The framed images shone in the dim  
light. Scott and Jean when they were hardly more than children.  
Next to them a picture of Cannonball, Magma, Sunspot, Illyana   
Rasputin, Dani Moonstar, Doug Ramsey. Some of them dead,   
others corrupted. Then a picture of Cannonball again, on the   
day he graduated to the X-Men. Around him; Boomer,   
Warpath, Sunspot and, of course, Cable.  Next a picture of the   
Generation X kids, with their headmasters Banshee, a close   
friend to Xavier, and Emma Frost, former colleague of   
Magneto. Finally, young Nathan Summers. An innocent child.   
  
 'Then what do you suggest we do?' asked Charles.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 'You're sure about this Bishop?' asked Psylocke.  
  
 'It it necessary.' claimed Bishop. 'I cannot continue with these  
fractured thoughts, Elisabeth.'  
  
 Betsy reached forward from her seat and took Bishop's hands.  
She shut her eyes and prepared to enter his mind. 'I don't know   
what this will achieve Bishop. A wandering presence in your   
mind may only add to your confusion.'  
  
 'I have to try something.' claimed Bishop.  
  
 'Why not ask the Professor?' she asked, opening her eyes   
suddenly, alert with curiosity.  
  
 'I would rather it was you, Elizabeth, at least for now.'  
  
 Choosing not to press him any further Psylocke shut her eyes   
once more and drew her left hand away from his. Then she   
pulled it back, forging her psychic blade from her fist, and   
thrust it into Bishop's mind.   
  
 Then she was elsewhere. Her astral self stood in an alleyway.   
Bishop was there, but older, bald and unusually dressed with a   
blue cloak. She turned to look around and was suddenly face to   
face with Apocalypse. But he too looked different. She backed   
away and took a corner in a sprint, almost colliding with...   
Magneto?   
  
 'What is this?' she asked herself, staring at the unmoving form  
in front of her. It *was* Magneto, frozen in time, but he had   
longer hair, his costume had changed, it... it wasn't quite   
Magneto. She moved around him, watching him as she went,   
then headed down another passage into a clearing. And a   
garden. An oriental water garden. And there, on one of the   
bridges, was Bishop, young again, more or less as he was   
today. And he was embracing a young Asian girl. Revanche,   
with her coal black hair as it had been before the mind   
transferral. Psylocke stood in amazement for a moment, then   
approached the scene. As she drew nearer the scene began to   
move. Unlike the other tableaux, this one was alive, perhaps   
only for the moment. The embrace ended and Revanche   
whispered 'I must go'.   
  
 Psylocke stood beside the couple unnoticed. Even if she were  
visible to them, their eyes were fixed on one another. Revanche  
began to walk away.  
  
 'Don't go.' insisted Bishop, reaching out for her arm. And   
grabbing Psylocke's instead. He spun her into his arms and   
caught her in a kiss. Revanche faded away as Psylocke   
struggled to free herself from his hold. 'What's wrong?' he   
whispered.  
  
 'Get the hell off me, Bishop!' yelled Betsy. They weren't in the   
astral realm anymore, Bishop really did have her in his arms.   
She twisted away and hit the floor. 'What in God's name do you   
think you were doing.'  
  
 'Elisabeth!' gasped Bishop. 'Forgive me, I didn't...'  
   
 'How dare you do that to me?' she hissed, picking herself up.   
She strode to the door and left, glaring at him one more time as   
she left.  
  
 Bishop sat in total confusion. His life, his dreams, it was   
getting harder and harder to keep them apart. Who knows   
where it would lead to next?  
  
 - - - -   
   
 Beast sat staring. For a moment he was switched off, thinking   
about nothing, just looking towards, or maybe through, the   
computer screen. He realised he was zombifying and shook   
himself.  
  
 'Sleep.' he muttered. 'I must get some sleep.'  
  
 A hand came down on his shoulder. He looked up to see   
Quicksilver, then saw a flurry of fists bouncing off his nose.   
Then he was asleep.  
  
 Pietro picked up the space suit that he had left by the doorway   
and quickly donned it. Then he stepped tentatively over to his   
daughter's bedside and lifted her sleeping form into his arms. He   
took her out of the room to where Lockjaw stood in the   
corridor.   
  
 Beast stirred. 'Ouch.' he grumbled. He looked over to Luna   
and noticed she was gone. It took a moment for him to   
remember what had just happened. 'Oh no!' he gasped suddenly.   
'Pietro, whatever you have planned, don't do it.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 All three said nothing. They were all thinking. They had to   
make a decision, and it would effect the whole future. They   
were thinking very carefully.  
  
 'What are your plans, Magneto?' asked Storm.  
  
 'I am dying, Storm. I plan to die.' he stated.   
  
 'And Charles will not accept your way. Then that duty must fall  
on others. Your Acolytes, Magnus. You must teach them to  
carry on your instructions.'  
  
 'There are no Acolytes, Storm. They are all either dead or   
missing. It is too late to find others.'  
  
 'No. There are a few strong, able mutants who know you well  
enough to learn from you. Scanner is a prisoner here at the  
mansion. Rogue is with you.'  
  
 'Two people is hardly sufficient.'  
  
 'X-Men, then.' said Storm. 'There are two teams. Why should  
they not follow two masters?'  
  
 'What are you suggesting Storm?' asked Charles. 'I will not   
have my charges following Magneto.'  
  
 'They can make their own decisions Charles.'  
  
 'Then I know for certain how they will decide.' claimed   
Charles.  
  
 'Only if you bend their wills.' argued Magnus. 'Give me   
Scanner, Charles. Whoever else chooses to follow may do so.'  
  
 'They will not turn from me.' claimed Charles.  
  
 'Probably not. But Storm has inspired me. There are people out  
there that I can use. Perhaps alongside Rogue I can find some   
of my old Acolytes. Skids is alive, Kleinstock, Voight. I may   
yet leave a legacy. My X-Men.' Magnus gave a thin smile, his   
eyes shone with the remnants of his vitality. 'I will not give up,   
Charles. Not on this dream.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Beast knocked hard on Crystal's door, almost shattering it   
from it's hinges. She opened it cautiously.  
  
 'What's wrong?' she asked, suddenly stricken with panic.   
'What's happened to Luna?'  
  
 'Quicksilver took her.' replied Beast. 'And Lockjaw is gone.'  
  
 Crystal rushed past Beast and headed for the stairs. There at   
the foot was Lockjaw and a figure wrapped in a space suit,   
holding Luna close to his chest. She was crying. Quicksilver   
removed the terrifying hood and whispered a song into his   
daughter's ear. Then he noticed Crystal. She saw that he was   
crying as well.  
  
 'What have you done?' she seethed.  
  
 'I wanted to help her.' said Pietro. 'Maybe now she can fight   
the disease. Maybe now she's strong enough.'  
  
 'Oh God!' gasped Beast, catching up with Crystal.   
  
 'What have you done?' repeated Crystal slowly, forcefully. She  
pulled the child from Pietro and clasped her tightly.   
  
 'The mist.' said Pietro. 'I ran with her through the Terrigen   
Mist.'  
  
 Crystal stared at him aghast. Her face fell. Her daughter, her   
poor sweet daughter, was meant to have lived a normal life.   
Now she could not even have a normal death. She would now   
have power, and the virus would twist it and warp it against   
her.  
  
 'You shouldn't have done it Pietro.' said Beast. 'We don't know  
how she'll react.'  
  
 Each one of them considered the fate of the poor child. The   
child herself... merely screamed.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Charles Xavier, founder of the X-Men, had once handed over   
his students and friends to his worst enemy, Magneto. That day   
it had seemed like the best decision. Today he was not so sure.  
  
 Through the study window he saw Scanner standing by the   
car. She held open the door as Magnus approached on Rogue's   
arm. The look on her face, the exaltation at seeing her messiah   
alive, and at being set free, was such a rare image of faith,   
especially given the beleaguered state of her young body. It   
appeared as if the ravages of the Savage Land conflict were still   
upon her, as well as ravages of more recent days, during her   
incarceration at the mansion. Still, she carried hope. She   
believed in Magneto.   
  
 Then Cyclops came over to the car.  
  
 'Scott?' queried Ororo. 'Why is he there? I haven't even seen  
him in days, he spends all his time in the boathouse now.'  
  
 'He is going with them.' said Charles mournfully. 'Magneto said   
he would only take Rogue and Scanner today, but Scott   
insisted that he be allowed to come as well. I don't dare guess   
why he's made this decision. I can only imagine he thinks I must   
have failed him.'  
  
 Charles moved his chair away from the window. Storm  
remained transfixed as Scott entered the car. She was  
suddenly concerned. She was not convinced by Xavier's  
explanation. Why, then, would Scott make such a choice?  
  
 Charles, on the other hand, was a little less concerned. He  
could not trust Magneto, he could not be sure he had made  
the right decision. But it eased the worrying slightly to know   
that whatever Magneto chose to do, Charles would have a spy   
to watch his every move...  
  
**************************************************    
Next issue: Marked For X-Tinction - The X-Men return to   
Genosha!  
**************************************************  
  



	22. The Darker Side #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the Darker Issue editions were stand alone, but this one is part of the wider arc, so is included here.

The Darker Side #3 : A Simple Game of Chess  
Writer: JAC Delaney  
Editor: Marysia  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
Author's Notes:  This is my attempt to revive this series (which   
died a premature death with number two).  This issue takes   
place after both Cable #27 and Uncanny X-men #330, reading   
them first might not be a terribly bad idea.  It has some   
suggestive scenes in it that might not be terribly acceptable for   
young readers but is milder than some of my previous work   
here.  The characters in here are property of Marvel Comics   
and used without permission.  Thus, selling this story would be   
very bad karma and is not recommended.  The character of   
David R. Henry is a direct parody of the RACMX poster and is   
also used without permission.  Given that he might be in the   
area soon, selling him for profit might also be bad karma.  
  
    I have been given permission to advertise for a writer for   
a Rogue mini-series.  The successful candidate will have hated   
XMU#4, liked Rogue when she was intelligent and had a   
personality and swear that the words "Help me Remy" or any   
equivalents will never appear in the series.  
  
    People who wonder about the survival of the main   
character should reread the relevant section of Cable #27   
carefully and remember that it is from Cable's POV.  
  
            So enjoy!  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Prelude [Hellfire Club: New York.  POV: Shadow King]  
  
    I glanced across the table at the beautiful features of my   
opponent as she strove to counter my latest move.  I admired   
her rich black hair and the ripe body beneath the black leather.    
Hellfire women always dressed as prostitutes and Selene was no   
exception.  What was disconcerting with her was that she   
actually enjoyed it; as opposed to Emma would had used it or   
Tessa who had endured it.    
  
    I sipped a glass of rich red wine, the colour of blood I   
noticed in an amused fashion.  Selene missed few opportunities   
to make a point to me.  I watched with amusement as she took   
my pawn with her knight; it reminded me too much of that night   
at the rally.  Cable had come for me then, although what could   
have told him I was there I am still not certain.  All that saved   
me that night was his arrogance, the treachery of his mate and   
his morals.  In short, I was saved by plain old luck.  I replaced   
the glass of wine; the thought had made it go sour in my mouth.    
  
    I had sacrificed a pawn in a desperate game of mental   
effort.  I had been a fool earlier and I admitted it now; much as I   
enjoyed the devastation of the Savage Land it had cost me too   
much.  Made me weak and vulnerable and that was not to be   
tolerated.  When Cable had come I had barely held the illusion   
against his mighty telepathy and if his little tramp hadn't turned   
on him...  But then that wasn't entirely accidental was it?  I am   
always amazed at how stupid my contemporaries are!  Imagine   
Genesis thinking that crude mental hack job would hold; but   
now it would hold through anything.  Just the beginning of my   
vengeance on you, Nathan Summers, just the beginning.  
  
    I stared at the board considering my next move.  Selene   
murmered and twisted opposite to me.  I laughed and she   
looked mildly offended.  Beta female to alpha male; Selene   
comes from an earlier age of this planet.  How simple the head-  
blind can be.  Do they understand so little about the way the   
mind works?  
  
    Still Selene is not an opponent to be underestimated.    
When I returned from the Rally of the Friends of Humanity I   
was weak and exhausted and in no shape to wage a pitched battle.    
She was waiting for me; a snake waiting to strike at the intruder   
who dared covet her territory.  This was no Candra to amaze the   
world with her stupidity; this was Selene who had fed on the   
souls of men before I was even conceived.  Weak as I was,   
she had nearly proved my match.  I overcome her, but at a   
tremendous cost. However in the act of victory I had gained her   
loyalty.  For as long as I remained strong that is.  
  
    I watched as she slowly licked her lips with her tongue   
while her hand strayed across her body.  Sex was one pleasure I   
had never been much inclined towards.  My conquest of Jean   
Grey had been an act of violence, of domination.  But this   
woman, she could excite me as no other ever had.  Perhaps it   
was because we were so much alike.    
  
    I move a bishop across the board and Selene's knight   
fell.  I remembered the second part of my vengeance on Cable.    
The mad dash to contact Gyrich as a respected Democratic   
Senator.  He couldn't overlook the possibility of bipartisan   
support for his projects and so he had seen me on short notice.    
So glad that Senator Henry of North Dakota was willing to   
discuss sentinels with him.  He was mine before he even knew   
it; a slave of the Shadow King.  Poor weak little human, he was   
no match for ME.  I ordered the infection of Cable with his   
soul-brothers Legacy (all three versions just to be sure) as it   
suited my sense of irony.  Then he had vanished.  But I was   
confident.  Cable had better learn to come back from the dead   
because no possibility of a cure existed given his previous   
infection.  I smiled.    
  
    I glanced at the picture of Senator John Picard.  He had   
been a weak man who had been swayed into my camp by fear   
and uncertainty.  His right wing constituency was heavily   
influenced by the Friends of Humanity and he felt he had to   
appease them by making an appearance.  A weak man and one   
easily sacrificed to prevent MY death.  Stupid Cable, in his   
weakness he had killed a man who might have supported him   
eventually, a good man who was too weak to do what he   
thought was right.      
  
    Selene moved her king forward one space.  Hemmed in   
by her own pieces the White King is in more danger from her   
own pieces than from mine.  I laugh, our kings are in   
opposition, just like you and me Charles Xavier, you and me.    
The problem is that you never understood the rules of the game   
and that is why I must always triumph.  You can beat me a   
thousand times Xavier, but so long as darkness resides in the   
human soul I will be there.  Oh, I can be killed or banished, but   
your own weakness robs you of the decisive edge needed to   
strike for the kill.  Or the raw power.   
  
    I remember Phoenix and the fear as I faced her power   
unbound at last.  I had just killed Erik Lensherr and make no   
mistake he was dead.  A piece of meat with no soul inside: his   
mind banished to where the head-blind go when they die.  I had   
always thought it would be oblivion but Phoenix had reached   
across a barrier I could never conceive of breaching and brought   
Magneto back.  Then she had incinerated my body with a blast   
of telekinetic fury.  Had she used her telepathy it is not certain   
that I would be alive today.  The red haired witch; I would make   
her pay the ultimate price for her defiance.  But I was patient   
and now was not the time.  I could wait.  
  
    I move a pawn forward.  One more move and this lowly   
pawn will be a Queen.  Selene reacts like lightening, moving a   
rook to threaten my Queen.  I laugh.  Too late little Black   
Queen.  I move my knight and it is over.    
  
    "Checkmate." I observe.  
  
    "I see milord... it appears you have proven too much for   
me." she replies coyly.  I almost laugh to see her play the   
innocent.  She reaches across and touches me and it is like an   
electric spark between us.  Our lips meet and I crush her to me.    
  
    I am hungry and it is time to sate my hunger.  
  
  
Main  [Hellfire Club: New York.  POV: Mr. Sinister]  
  
    I had almost refused the invitation to the club.  It was   
rare that I interacted with these degenerates.  Shaw had some   
spine but lacked the vision to see beyond sheets of numbers to   
the more complicated patterns around him.  He had been the   
best of the lot.  Even the doomed crusader Magneto had cared   
too much about those he would dominate to be of any real use   
in my schemes.    
   
    But this invitation had come from a Senator who had   
mysteriously survived a shooting that had felled Cable.  Sources   
inside the government painted a disturbing picture; as if he had   
been the target but had been ignored for some strange reason.    
A celebrity overnight, was it true he had arranged for Cable to   
be destroyed?  Unlikely, and yet some things could only be   
explained if he had...  
  
    No matter.  I had destroyed a Senator who had tried to   
use a mutant power to manipulate before.  Impersonated him   
before all of the Senate and made him into the evil mutant he   
was warning others about.  And when the worm had lacked the   
spine to take his own life... well let's just say ricochet is a   
killer.  I smiled as I entered the building.    
  
    I wore the outward appearance of Val Cooper's ex-  
husband, a tall and impeccably dressed black man.  I had worn it for many  
years as her spouse.  A fine woman, it was a shame I had to leave her  
behind but ambition called and she would have begun to suspect sooner or  
later.  I handed my invitation to a scantily clad waitress and watched as  
she grew pale.  She led me through the crowd below, degenerates playing   
at evil, to the chambers above.  I walked into a dimly lit room   
and assumed my true form.  
  
    I saw a handsome fellow on a chair with a raven-tressed   
woman at his feet.  How medieval.  This sort of ruffian would   
be easy to manipulate... my mind raced as I thought of possible   
schemes that I could use this little toy for.  Then I recognised   
the woman... and I screamed.  I was almost fast enough to   
escape line of sight.  
  
    He hammered through my mental defences like a hot,   
blazing knife through butter.  I sought to generated an energy   
blast to finish him off but he continued his ceaseless assault;   
depriving me of my ability to respond.  I had thought nobody   
was capable of this... but to have tamed Selene...  Only once   
before had I been this helpless, as En Sabah Nuhr had moulded   
me into the man I now was.  But that had been a birth, a   
coming of age and the acceptance of power.  This was a   
breaking; a humbling.    
  
    I resisted but it was futile.  If only I had brought a psi-screen with  
me, but I hadn't and so was helpless before him.  I saw amusement  
flicker across the face of the man.  Damn him.  Damn him to hell.  I   
fell to my knees against my will.  
  
    "It is a sad day when you are one of the great master-  
minds we have to fear Sinister.  How long ago was it that you   
couldn't even get a skin sample from Scott Summers?"  He   
laughed, mocking me.  I struggle but it is useless.  He is just too   
strong.  
  
    "I...know...your...name..."   
  
    "I don't doubt it.  But that is not why I summoned you   
here.  If I had wanted to look at incompetents I would have   
Candra around as a trophy.  What a waste... beautiful body,   
immortality, powerful TK and the mind of a retarded gerbil.  Ah   
well, life has it's little disappointments.  If I were you I would be   
praying that you are not one as well!"  He sipped at a glass filled   
with a deep red liquid.  "It is too bad I don't care to release you.    
You are missing a most exquisite wine."  He smiled and   
caressed Selene.  This was different than his normal pattern.    
This was something I could use...  
  
    "I don't think so my good Essex.  So, be a good boy and   
behave yourself and you will still have a mind left when you   
leave.  Otherwise...  well, let's say I can extract anything I want.    
It is just a matter of how much pain you want to endure in the   
process."  
  
    "What... do... you... want..." I mutter.  
  
    "What are you planning for the X-Men?"  
  
    "Nothing... I swear it... I mean... AAIIIIEEEEEE!"  
  
    "Wrong answer.  Don't lie to me, Sinister, I don't like it."  
  
    I begin to talk, the truth spilling out as I babbled to him   
of genetic potential and the need to cultivate the Summers line.    
Of plans and schemes and traitors and of a betrayal most foul.    
Then he stopped me, the bored expression leaving his face.    
  
    "What do you plan to do with her afterwards?"  My   
mind races.  What could he possibly want with her?  
  
    "Her Kree physiology makes any attempt to control her   
problematic and couple that with her power..."  
  
    "I know this.  What are you doing with her after you   
finish the analysis?"  
  
    "Blowing her head off and dropping her body in a ditch   
somewhere was the plan." I admit.    
  
    "Nonsense.  What a waste.  What do you think Selene?    
Should we prevent this waste of genetic resources?  Do we have   
need of a new convert?"  
  
    "The girl can be useful.  Her mind is weak and her   
unusual make-up will prove no barrier to your power, my love.    
I say we take her and make her ours."  She smiles and I am   
reminded of a venomous snake curled up around a branch.  I   
shudder at the comparison, a sign of how badly this mental   
assault has affected me.  
  
    "So be it."  He pierces my shields once again and roams   
around while I am helpless.  Who could ever have dreamed a   
telepath could ever be this powerful.  I fight him but it is hope-  
less...  
  
\- - - - - - - -   
  
    I stare at the grey buildings on the busy street and strive   
to recall why I am here.  This is most disconcerting to suddenly   
forget... no, wait I remember.  It is time to pay a visit to an old   
associate.  How silly of me I must have taken a wrong turn   
somewhere.  For a second a foreboding feeling strikes me.  As   
if I am being watched combined with the trace of a just   
forgotten notion.  It is nothing and I dismiss it.    
  
    I mock myself.  It is my own vanity that gets me into   
trouble. Sometimes, even after all these years or perhaps   
because of them, I forget I am only human.  I remember a weak   
man named Paris Bennet who had once trusted me and the   
price he had paid for not paying attention.  For his own vanity   
in his need for an ideological successor.  I must be careful, I am   
playing for the highest stakes possible and there are no second   
chances.   I walk down the street contemplating my plans for a   
certain X-woman.  I have delayed them too long and I have   
decided to enact them now.  Curious that I would think of this   
now given why I am here but I guess sometimes things just   
work out well.  But a little voice somewhere whispers that there   
are no coincidences.  I shiver despite the heat.    
  
[POV: Selene]  
  
    I thought it would never happen.  That I would never have a tool  
this powerful just deliver itself into my hands. The poor Shadow King,  
like most men he figured a woman's mind goes to mush when romance beckons.  
Fool!  He has worn the shape of a woman and he should know better.  But no  
matter.  He is mine and that is all that matters.   
  
  
Epilogue  [POV: Shadow King]  
  
    I watch Essex as he fades into the distance.  This is   
where I am most comfortable, in the shadows and pulling the   
strings.  What a stroke of luck that Mr. Sinister was gullible   
enough to come here thinking he could use me.  I planted just   
enough to tease and tantalise, to reel him into me.  To where he   
couldn't resist.  Now he departs not even remembering that he   
fell at my hands.  I smile and laugh at the irony of it all; the   
schemer trapped inside another schemes.  
  
    I hear Selene behind me and I smile again.  I never   
realised it could be like this before.  Never understood all those   
foolish cattle and their silly panderings to each other.  But this   
woman, she puts my blood on fire.  I think of her and I   
suddenly want to be with her again with all my soul.  But I put   
the feeling aside to watch the dying of the day and the coming   
of the night.  My night.  
  
    I watch as the sky turns blood red and the light of day   
falls before the pervading shadows.  Blood red slowly fades into   
grey twilight and then pitch black emerges.  The blackness of   
my soul, of my dream unleashed on the world.  There is a world   
out there, rich in pain and anguish.  Filled with those who are   
weak and helpless and cannot defend themselves.  The cattle   
roam, not realising the wolf is already among them.  And I am   
hungry.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	23. Uncanny X-Men #331: Marked for Xtinction

X-Writers are a non-profit making fan-fiction group using characters  
belonging to Marvel Entertainments without their permission.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------  
Uncanny X-Men #331  Marked for X-Tinction part 1  
  "Humanity"  
 Writer: Andrew Wheeler  
 Editor and Typist: Marysia  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
"Get a team here now"! cried Doctor Craner, "We've got a Freefall." They  
swarmed into the ward to the bed Craner was indicating. A Freefall. Someone  
was on their way out, and before they hit the ground they would let it  
*all* go. That was what happened in the last moments of Legacy. The  
victims' powers would flare out of control worse than before, and if you  
weren't careful they could take other with them.  
  
Suzie watched from her bed. This one was a psi, she'd talked to him before.  
Telepathically sometimes, until he accidentally read something he wasn't  
meant to see. She had been so angry with him. It wasn't his fault, it was  
the virus, but she didn't listen and they hadn't talked since. And now he  
was freefalling. Now he was going to die.  
  
The nurses grabbed his bed and wheeled it through the door. He was  
screaming, the noise was disturbing as hell, and Suzie was glad of that.  
She had heard so many screams, it seemed a good thing to know that they  
still affected her. They were just leaving down the corridor when one of  
the nurses was caught in a stray telekinetic jab and thrown through the air  
into a wall. Crane ran to look after him, gesturing to the others to keep  
on going towards the 'Ground Room', the room where the mutates went to die.  
  
A new scream joined that of the dying man as they headed away down the  
corridor. Suzie winced. She had heard about this, a psi latching on to the  
mind of someone around them and forcing them to live through the ordeal of  
their death. The doors finally swung shut, the sound became muffled, and a  
moment later, presumably when he was safely in the Ground Room, the ward  
was quiet again. Deathly quiet.  
  
Craner helped the nurse to his feet and led him out of the ward. He glanced  
backwards towards the patients and caught Suzie's eye, then was gone. Okay,  
maybe he didn't catch her eye, but that's what she liked to think. So what  
if it was a silly teenage crush? She was dying, she could think what she  
liked.  
  
She chose to divert her thoughts, escape the hospital as best she could, by  
gazing out of the window. It wasn't a great view. The bombed out wreck of a  
sports complex far across the hospital lawns. Still, it was outside. Just  
then there was a roar of noise. She could see some kind of huge black jet  
performing a vertical landing on the lawns. At first she thought of death  
squads, someone was coming to kill the patients, get rid of the whole  
disease ridden lot of them. Then she noticed the encircled X emblazoned on  
the side, and realised who it was.  
  
******  
  
Phillip Moreau stepped away from the wicket after a successful innings and  
received a gentle ripple of applause from the onlookers. He sat down in the  
deck-chair next to his girlfriend, Jenny, a delicate, pale skinned rose in  
a powder blue summer dress and a broad rimmed straw hat.  
  
"Think we'll win?" she asked, handing him a flute of champagne.  
  
"It's only a game," replied Phil. He wiped his brow on a handkerchief and  
took a sip of sparkling wine. Then Jenny reached across and held a  
strawberry under his nose. She slipped it in between his lips. "Delicious,"  
he whispered.  
  
"Plenty more where that came from," said Jenny.  
  
"Son."  
  
Phillip looked up to see his father, David, blocking out the sun.  
  
"Well played son," he told him.  
  
"Thanks Dad," said Phillip. "Are you up to bat soon?"  
  
"Next," his father replied. "This is where I fail horribly and waste all  
your efforts," David joked. Phil laughed and plucked another strawberry  
from the punnet. As his father walked onto the green, Phillip ,leant back  
and closed his eyes.  
  
******  
  
"Wake up Phillip," said Jenny, shaking him. He blinked in the yellow  
artificial light and tried to remember where he was. The old ground floor  
staff room, one time home for nurses gossip, chocolate biscuits and coffee  
jars. Now the windows were boarded with metal, the lockers were stocked  
with fire arms, and the duty roster had been replaced by a map of Genosha  
marked in red, black and blue.  
  
As his eyes adjusted, Phil took in the faces around the room. Wolverine, a  
welcome face, the man who had helped save him from the Mutant Train. Next  
to him, Archangel, whom Logan had been forced to fight - perhaps not  
entirely unwillingly - for the entertainment of Cameron Hodge. Against the  
wall, hugging herself as if bitterly cold, Archangels' lover Psylocke, and  
leaning in the doorway lighting a cigarette, Gambit. It had been here in  
Genosha that both of these had tried to prove themselves to their team-  
mates.  
  
"I'll take that, thank you," said Dr Renee Majcomb, snatching the cigarette  
from Gambits lips as she entered the room. Majcomb was a native Genoshan  
and leader of the Bipartisan Rebel Battalion. It was in her capacity as a  
leading biogeneticist, however, that she had fled the country, and it was  
for that same reason that she had come back here today. She took a seat  
next to Storm, now making her fourth trip to Genosha. For Quicksilver this  
was only the second, though last time he had come to save his own daughter  
from the legacy of his father. This time it was quite another legacy they  
had to try and deal with.  
  
That trip had also been the first for Bishop. He and Beast were now sitting  
on either side of the only newcomer here, Dr Alice Yeung. Finally there was  
Dr Craner, the man in charge of St Saviours hospital, effectively the host  
for this assembly.  
  
"You may be wondering why I gathered you all her today," said Beast  
deadpan. "Major Bartholomew Southern was found dead in the billiards room,  
stabbed in the back with a tribal african fertility idol. I believe that  
one of you is the murderer..."  
  
"Thank you Dr McCoy, but if we only had one corpse on our hands you  
wouldn't be here at all," claimed Ransome.  
  
"So why are we here Governor Ransome?" asked Storm. "Dr Majcomb wouldn't  
tell us."  
  
"Dr Majcomb couldn't tell you, she only knew to bring you here," replied  
Jenny. "We didn't want to broadcast our intentions across the globe."  
  
"Sounds to me like you're getting as shady as your predecessors," suggested  
Wolverine.  
  
"Surely you can understand the occasional need to err on the side of  
caution, Wolverine," smiled Jenny. "The fact is the coalition has too many  
enemies and no friends, we can't afford to take risks."  
  
"So you gonna broadcast your intentions across the room or do you have to  
write it all on cards?" asked Gambit. Beast gave him a dirty look, still  
annoyed that he had turned up to join them after being told to remain  
behind.  
  
"Dr Craner?" Jenny prompted.  
  
Craner stood up with clumsy grace and smiled nervously at this intimidating  
audience. "Hi," he began. "Well this building is St Saviours. It used to be  
a private clinic, for homo sapiens only. Now it's Genoshas' principle  
legacy research centre. We're overcrowded, statistically there are far more  
sufferers than there should be. The reason for that, we have discovered, is  
that someone has been interfering.  
  
"With Legacy?" asked Beast.  
  
"With the mutates," replied Craner.  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Alice hesitantly. "Someone is messing with their  
genetic structure?"  
  
"Been there, done that," muttered Ransome.  
  
"This time it's slightly different," explained Craner. "This time it's  
their immune systems that are under attack. Someone wants to wipe out the  
mutates, and he's willing to let Legacy do his work by making the mutates  
more receptive."  
  
"Let me guess. You want us to find out who this someone is," said  
Wolverine. "And you want us to stop them."  
  
"Merveilleux," sighed Gambit. This time both Beast and Bishop glared at him  
and he subsided silently.  
  
Ransome and Moreau exchanged an embarrassed look. "We can't do it,"  
explained Moreau. "We haven't the means."  
  
"You're the Genoshan government and you haven't the means?" asked Archangel  
disbelievingly.  
  
"We're part of a coalition and there's no-one we can trust, not even the  
other coalition members," claimed Ransome.  
  
"No-one, that is, except you," added Moreau.  
  
******  
  
The Hammer Bay Waterworks, a web of pools and pipes, tubes and filters,  
governmental inefficiency and corporate bureaucracy, all forged in steel  
and clamped to the ground.  
  
"What a charming place," lied Psylocke.  
  
"Not quite the catwalks of Paris, eh, Bets?" said Wolverine.  
  
A grey man in a blonde suit, flanked by security guards, marched towards  
them. "Can I help you?" he asked. He didn't look as if he intended to. His  
manner marked him out as the man in charge.  
  
"We hear you've been poisoning Genosha," said Wolverine.  
  
The suited man pouted and arched an eyebrow. "Someone did contaminate our  
water, yes. And the water supplies of all the cities of Genosha. I assume  
that is what you're referring to. We flushed out the contaminants, our  
water is perfectly safe."  
  
"Great but we're not here because we're thirsty. We want to know who did  
it."  
  
"Well so do we. There's nothing we can tell you, sir. Now if you would be  
so kind as to make your way out..."  
  
"Bets?"  
  
"He's telling the truth, he had nothing to do with it," claimed Psylocke.   
  
"That's what I thought agreed Wolverine, "C'mon let's go."  
  
They turned and headed out onto the forecourt. Psylocke stopped and took a  
steady breath. Wolverine stopped just ahead of her.  
  
"You okay?" he asked.  
  
"Are we going  back to  the hospital?" she whispered.  
  
He walked back to her side and put his arms around her. "It's okay Betsy. I  
understand. You don't have to go back."  
  
"I'm so scared Logan. I'm  not used to being scared. I pretend to be the  
iron ninja, but I'm not invulnerable, I'm not immune. I don't want to catch  
Legacy."  
  
"You aren't gonna catch Legacy..."  
  
"Easy for you to say, you've got your healing factor."  
  
"Bets, you weren't drinking the water, you weren't breathing poisoned air,  
your immune systems are fine."  
  
"But I'm still vulnerable, and I'm in a plague area. Don't lie to me Logan,  
I'm not stupid."  
  
"Okay," sighed Wolverine. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm scared," she cried. "I know how selfish that sounds, but I can't help  
it. Legacy frightens me."  
  
"I've got an idea," said Wolverine as he took a step back. "Let's go sniff  
about 'round the back of this place, look for evidence. When we're done  
with that we'll find somewhere else to go."  
  
******  
  
"This is a waste of time," claimed Bishop. "If someone has been developing  
a chemical process for corrupting mutate immune systems they will not have  
been doing it in a government laboratory."  
  
"You don't get out much do you Bish?" mocked Gambit, marching at the fore  
of the three men through the corridors.  
  
"I am perfectly aware of the fact that these labs may be rife with  
corruption, LeBeau. Just as I am aware that you are a cretinous traitor  
whose face it will be my pleasure to wipe off the sole of my shoe when the  
time comes."  
  
Gambit gave him a, 'like I care what you think', sarcastic look.  
  
"I also know that whilst some want equality for mutates and others want  
them crushed under the human heel; none of the factions want the mutates  
wiped out. We are looking for an outsider, and we won't find him in these  
labs," argued Bishop.  
  
"He may have a point," agreed Archangel.  
  
They arrived in a lounge area, an open plan arrangement of padded seats and  
vending machines at the heart of the network of laboratories for the  
scientists to retreat to during their coffee breaks. The three X-Men  
separated, positioning themselves around the room disguised as scientists.  
Bishop had face make-up to cover his tattoo and Archangel had to use an  
image inducer. They settled in, picked up magazines, got themselves coffees  
and, in Gambits' case, a muffin, and waited to see what they could casually  
overhear.  
  
Gambit picked at his muffin, hunger oppressed by the thoughts running  
through his mind. The expression on Rogue's face, the hatred in her voice;  
and the distaste in Bishops for that matter. He had come so close to  
gaining their trust, leaving his past behind. Not close enough.  
  
Bishops' brain was close to numbness as he skimmed through a page of  
recipes involving avocado. He got as far as spicy mexican guacamole before  
being interrupted.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
He turned to see a round-faced young lady with short strawberry blonde hair  
and pale freckles. "Hi, I haven't seen you around here before. You must be  
from one of the industrial programmes."  
  
"Umm... yes," said Bishop.  
  
"I must say these labs are overstretching, don't you think? I can see the  
financial benefits of these arrangements with the likes of Abbot, Roxxon  
and Diamond Pharmaceuticals, but it diverts us from what needs to be done  
with the mutates."  
  
"Yes," agreed Bishop. "So..."  
  
"Of course," interrupted the woman, hardly stopping to draw breath. "I  
can't vouch for the companies myself, I'm not involved like you are, but  
from what I've heard one or two of them aren't entirely reliable." she drew  
closer to him. "In fact, they say Diamond is downright disreputable. But  
then you'd know more about it than I would."  
  
"Uh... yes," said Bishop uncertainly.  
  
"I wouldn't even guess at what they're really up to, but I think the  
coalition government should look into it, don't you?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"They won't of course. Too weak, too incompetent. Whatever Diamond is  
doing, they'll just keep doing it." She rose with a smile. "Of course, it's  
probably nothing really." Then she walked away.  
  
Bishop sat in mild confusion for a moment, trying to assess this  
information. He made eye contact with Archangel across the room, threw  
aside the magazine, and walked across to talk him. He was watched by a  
security camera suspended inside a plastic half sphere on the ceiling.  
  
The electronic eye was tied by one string of wires to a bay of monitors  
watched over by a security guard. The same images were also being relayed  
across a second set of wires, wires hidden deep within the structure of the  
building and down under the streets of Genosha, all the way to the techno-  
nest of the islands foul kingmaker; the grotesque, blotched ball of  
festering flesh known as Sugarman. Two narrow, soulless eyes surveyed the  
wall of monitors. He scanned across from the image of Bishop in  
conversation with Archangel to a view of a corridor in the same building,  
the round faced girl walking along towards an exit. She glanced back at the  
camera and winked.  
  
"Attagirl Melissa, lurethemin, get them doin' our work for us," sneered  
Sugarman. "Looks like I'm finding a use for the X-Men after all."  
  
******  
  
They called her Befora, the Italian faerie of the mutant ghetto slum known  
as Blackfriars, who stands high atop Towgate Tower, watching and  
protecting. She would watch for any movement in the streets below and warn  
of any incoming attackers.   
  
This late afternoon, nearing dusk, she sighted three people walking across  
George Plaza. She moved across to the telescope, formerly for the use of  
tourists wanting a view of Hammer Bay, but now as shattered as the rest of  
Blackfriars, with the cashbox smashed open. Befora reached inside for a  
coin and put it in the slot. The telescope slipped awake and the coin  
dropped back into the box.  
  
Befora blinked into the eyepiece to adjust her vision, then fixed on the  
trio. She followed them across the plaza trying to identify them,  
eventually seeing the black markings on the blonde womans face.  
  
Befora stepped back and intensified the light of her shimmering aura to a  
dazzling yellow.  
  
"What's that?" asked Quicksilver as he looked up to the tower.  
  
"Befora," replied Dr Majcomb. "It means they know we're coming."  
  
The flare was also seen on the other side  of Blackfriars by those for whom  
it was intended.  
  
"Befora's gone yellow, Ward," muttered the unshaven young man biting his  
fingernails at the window of the desolate Blackfriars library.  
  
A broad, bald, bearded old man forced himself out of his old wooden chair  
to join his friend out the window. "Yellow, eh, Pistol?" said Ward in a  
baritone rumble. "Neither friend nor foe."  
  
"Always interesting," claimed Pistol.  
  
******  
  
"Are you an X-Man?"  
  
Alice looked around to see Suzie sitting in a wheelchair.  
  
"Me? No, I'm not a mutant. I'm a friend of the X-Men," claimed Alice. "I'm  
here to help with Legacy."  
  
"Are you going to cure me?" asked Suzie.  
  
Alice froze. If Suzie was to weak to walk then she couldn't be far from  
death. No cure was likely to present itself in the next few days. She had  
no idea what to say.  
  
"Sorry," Suzie whispered. "That wasn't much of a question was it?"  
  
"I don't want to make any promises," claimed Alice. "But you should never  
give up hope."  
  
"Don't worry," replied Suzie. "I never do."  
  
Alice smiled. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a pack of cards.  
"Want a game?"  
  
"How about twenty-one?" suggested Suzie.  
  
"How about poker?"  
  
"I don't know how to play poker."  
  
"Well I do. Learn from me kid. When I'm through teaching you we can take  
Gambit for everything he's got."  
  
Suzie giggled.  
  
"You shuffle," said Alice, throwing the cards. "What's your name?"  
  
"Suzie."  
  
"Hi Suzie. I'm Alice. I'm going to turn you into the hottest card sharp in  
Genosha," claimed Alice.  
  
******  
  
Majcomb knocked three times on the library door. It creaked open and Pistol  
stuck out his head.  
  
"There is a secret knock you know," he complained.  
  
"So sue me," smiled Majcomb.  
  
A thick fingered hand grabbed the door above Pistols' head and threw it  
back. "Come in Renee," bellowed Ward. "I didn't expect to see you again.  
Not after the pains we went to to smuggle you out of the country."  
  
"What can I say? I missed you," claimed Majcomb as she stepped inside  
followed by Storm and Quicksilver.  
  
"I see you've brought company," said Ward. "An X-Man and an Avenger no  
less. I'm honoured."  
  
"We've come for information," announced Storm. "Dr Majcomb said you might  
be able to help us."  
  
Pistol slammed shut the door behind them.  
  
"What do you need to know?" asked Ward.  
  
"Someone is poisoning the air and the water, weakening the mutates, turning  
Legacy into a plague," said Storm.  
  
"So I hear."  
  
"We need to know who," finished Renee.  
  
Ward raised his hands in the air and sighed. "if I knew that they'd be dead  
already. Don't worry though, my best man is digging around as we speak.  
He's coming back to me in a couple of days. You come back too, I'm sure we  
can arrange something."  
  
"A couple of days?" repeated Quicksilver angrily.  
  
"At the soonest. I can't do any better than that my impatient friend. My  
contact cannot be reached before them. My apologies," said Ward.  
  
Storm laid a soothing hand on Pietro's terse shoulder. Pietro had been with  
the X-Men ever since Crystal had taken their dying daughter away to Four  
Freedoms Plaza, perhaps because he had nowhere else to go. The pain of this  
separation seemed to make him increasingly frustrated and angry. She  
thought she ought to do something to help. She wanted to help.  
  
"Then we'll see you in two days," agreed Renee. Pistol swung the door back  
open. They walked out, knowing they didn't yet have anywhere to go.  
  
******  
  
Dr Michael Craner was a very handsome man, every nurse at St Saviours would  
testify to that. They would also mournfully testify that he was a very  
decent man. He was also intelligent, gifted, young, respectable, as far as  
Suzie was concerned he was perfect.  
  
Still, as he sat in his office gazing down at Betsy Braddock, reading in  
the false light of the Blackbird cockpit, he couldn't help feeling that as  
a human she would never even look at him.  
  
"Why is she out there?" asked Craner.  
  
"She says someone should guard the Blackbird," explained Wolverine. "And by  
my way of thinking, she's got a point."  
  
Craner briefly looked back over his shoulder and greeted Bishop as he  
entered. Then he turned back to the window for a moment before shaking  
himself.  
  
"I'm sorry, that's terribly rude," claimed Craner. "I don't know what came  
over me, I'm not usually so uncivilised."  
  
"Nothing wrong with that," said Wolverine with a wicked grin. "But I  
wouldn't waste my time on Betsy if I were you. She's dating Archangel. The  
big blue bastard with the razor edged wings. I don't think he'd take kindly  
to intrusions."   
  
Bishop unleashed a sudden bout of nervous coughing.  
  
"Honey and lemon and a good long rest, Bishop," ordered Beast as he bounded  
into the room. "Greetings gentlemen. Delighted to see you made it back in  
one piece and without incident."  
  
"Had a busy day Beast?" asked Wolverine.  
  
"Doctor Yeung and I have been playing Florence Nightingale. She was the  
lady of the lamp, I'm the freak with the fur," claimed Beast. "I see Storm  
hasn't returned yet."  
  
"I suggest we begin without her," said Craner. "What do you have to  
report?"  
  
"Nothing at the waterworks," claimed Wolverine. "Not that I could find at  
any rate."  
  
"Well if he can't find it it can't be there," added Beast.  
  
"We have a lead," announced Bishop. "But I wouldn't vouch for it's worth.  
It seemed to be supplied all too readily. I was told to investigate Diamond  
Pharmaceuticals."  
  
"Diamond?" pondered Beast.  
  
"I can check our database, you can locate their Genoshan office tomorrow,"  
suggested Craner.  
  
"In the evening, when everyone's gone home," added Wolverine.  
  
"Talking of going home, I see our governmental friends have left us," said  
Beast. "Will we see them again?"  
  
"Don't count on it," replied Craner. "They showed you their support when  
you arrived, but it's difficult for them to do more. The coalition is a  
fragile and factional thing. Half its' ministers are already calling for  
the X-Men to be banned from out shores, and if it weren't for the aid  
provided by McTaggart and X-Factor when Legacy first struck (X-Factor #89-  
#91 - AW) but the President and Dr Ryan would be easily convinced. Moreau  
and Ransome are acting as an aide-memoire."  
  
"Ryan is the current Genegineer, yes?" asked Beast rhetorically. "I didn't  
know she was so influential."  
  
"The post of Genegineer will remain pivotal to Genosha until the gene  
modification process can be reversed," explained Craner.  
  
Wolverine and Beast exchanged glances. "So it's in her interests not to  
reverse it," noted Wolverine.  
  
"And research indicates that it is the effects of the genemode that have  
made the air and water poisons so effective against the mutates," added  
Beast. "The poisoner would have to have intimate knowledge of the process."  
  
"Oh come on now!" laughed Craner. "Sasha Ryan is an excellent scientist and  
an honest woman. A little old fashioned in her thinking, a little insular  
even, but not a monster like David Moreau. I can assure you she only has  
Genosha's best interests at heart."  
  
******  
  
"There's something rotten in Genosha, Dr Ryan."  
  
Sasha Ryan stood in silhouette at her office window in Genosha Mercy  
General, the other big hospital in Hammer Bay. "we've been rotting a long  
time now Madame President," said Ryan as she poured herself another cup of  
tea. "The cost of being the most highly advanced nation on the planet I'm  
afraid."  
  
The President, a tidy woman in black who believed herself to be the leader  
the nation had been left wanting for too many years, who was not willing to  
keep paying for the mistakes of her predecessors, held council with the  
Chief Genegineer every week, and every week they covered the same ground.  
  
"I am a patriot, Madame President. My family was on this island before the  
French, before the English, my loyalty is to the island, and I want to see  
this decay cease. As do you. So what do we do?"  
  
"We can't do anything until we fully understand the problem," replied the  
President. "Hodge is gone but there are still people lurking in the  
shadows. I feel eyes following me wherever I go. We need to cast light on  
these shadows Doctor."  
  
"Oh I agree," said Ryan. "The question is, are the X-Men helping us to that  
end, or hindering us?"  
  
"And the answer?"  
  
Ryan paused reluctantly. "They've done a lot for us in the past. All of  
the,; the X-Men, X-Factor, X-Force, Excalibur. But now the coalition is  
arguing about their usefulness, asking if we need them to keep coming back  
and checking up on us. Moreau and Ransome insist that we do, but won't tell  
us why. It's creating a division in an already fragile government. We don't  
need that."  
  
"So what do you suggest?"  
  
"I think we should ask them to leave," decided Ryan. "And stay out of our  
affairs."  
  
******  
  
He had been dead for quite some time, or so he had thought. His neck had  
been snapped by the monster Hodge, and he had lain crippled on the ground  
as Cable, Storm and their people had carried on their crusade. He didn't  
expect to ever get up again.  
  
Apparently he didn't get up again. Not for some time. They had rescued him,  
a group of well meaning Magistrates led by a medical supervisor, and hidden  
him from a world believing him dead. When he awoke from his coma his body  
had been twisted, trapped in a monstrous exoskeleton to keep his shattered  
form together. He had been kept alive by a demon, the third he had  
encountered in his tarnished life, to be used as a pawn in his worldgame,  
like Flynn in Latveria. Now that demon was dead, perhaps for real this  
time, and his otherworldly bastard son had taken over.  
  
The doors slid open and the son walked in.  
  
"I hope you slept well Dr Moreau," grinned Holocaust. "You must be strong  
to face the coming challenge."  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Next issue: Marked for X-Tinction continues as Holocaust, Sugarman and  
Diamond Pharmaceuticals play their powergames at the mercy of Genosha. The  
X-Men, of course, are trapped in the middle...  
  



	24. Uncanny X-Men #332: Marked for Xtinction

Welcome to X-Writers, where Marvel's Merry Mutants  
meander along a variant path, one which, to be honest,  
we think is a lot better than theirs. But we can't say so  
publicly as they might contemplate legal action, even  
though that would be pointless given that we have no   
money. Still, Marvel owns most of these people and  
all of Genosha (lucky them), so we have to give them  
some of the credit.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
Uncanny X-Men #332  
Marked For X-Tinction Part Two - Civility.  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
Edited by Marysia, who doesn't get nearly as  
much credit as she deserves, poor woman, but y'see  
it's all a labour of love for her.  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
 Antonia Anjou wished that just once she could be called Antonia,  
or Miss Anjou, or even President Anjou, but it wasn't to be. It  
was always 'Madame President', as if she had no real identity,  
no personality, no... life.  
  
 'Madame President!' screamed a voice. It was one of her  
bodyguards rushing in through the double doors; a pretty young   
girl who wanted to be as tough as she could be, because she knew   
that was the only way to survive in Genosha.   
  
 'Karine, what's wrong?'   
  
 Karine barrelled into her employer and sent her flying backwards  
over her desk. She smacked her head hard on the pedestal of her  
executive leather chair. She wanted to leap up and chastise   
Karine, at least as soon as her head stopped hurting, but then  
the wall came crashing in.   
  
 Safely hidden by her desk, the President lay very still as she heard  
a menacing voice intone something about her term of office coming to  
an end. A supervillain torment, decided Antonia. Just the sort of  
banal remark they always seem to make. She peered around the edge and  
saw Karine being blasted into the wall by the massive glowing freak, a  
neon Hallowe'en skeleton in a man shaped box. As the rest of her  
bodyguards raced in to meet their doom she curled up and prayed for it  
to go away.     
  
 A few moments later it was quiet again. The monster had made   
a few more ridiculous supervillain remarks about strength or  
something, but now it was gone, and that was all she wanted  
to hear. She stepped out into the rubble and stared at the  
corpses of her attendants. Dead protecting a woman they didn't  
even know. Dead protecting a woman they called 'Madame President'.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Strangest thing. When Suzie awoke this morning only nine of  
the ten beds in the ward were occupied. Another patient had died  
in the night. That wasn't strange, of course. That was perfectly  
normal. Within an hour the bed was filled. The strange thing was  
that Suzie couldn't remember who it was that had died. Not their  
name, not their face, not a thing. Someone else had had to remind   
her, and then it had all come flooding back, and she had cried.   
She went out into the memorial garden in the rear quad to pay her  
respects, and was still there now.   
  
 'You okay kid?'  
  
 'It's not fair.' replied Suzie. 'It's bad enough everyone hates us  
and we get stuck being freaks and get turned into machines and  
have our heads shaved and numbers stamped on our heads  
and these bloody awful leotards glued to our bodies, but then we  
have to bloody die as well. I mean, what's the point?'  
  
 'Yeah.' said Wolverine. 'Life sucks.' He squatted down by her  
wheelchair and put an arm around her shoulders. 'Bet nothing  
good ever happened to you, eh, kid?'  
  
 'Too right.' agreed Suzie.   
  
 'That'll upset Dr Yeung though, don't you think? I mean, she  
thought you were having a great time playin' poker with her  
last night and now it turns out you were just pretendin' to make  
her feel better.'  
  
 'That's not true.' argued Suzie. 'I *did* have fun.' Suzie stopped  
herself. 'Oh.' she said.  
  
 'Now, me on the other hand, I never have any fun. At least you  
don't have to worry about people stuffing metal in and out of  
your body all the time, or all the other hundred and one things   
an X-Man has to worry about.'  
  
 'I'd *like* to be an X-Man.' said Suzie. 'Don't suppose you  
let people my age into the team?'  
  
 'Sure we do. But they have to go to a special school first.'  
  
 'Can I go?'  
  
 Wolverine kicked himself. He should never have brought up the   
subject. They couldn't take a girl with Legacy to the school, it  
wouldn't be fair on the other kids, and Frost would never allow it.  
'Tell you what,' said Wolverine, 'We already have a European  
branch, how about you be the first member of the Genoshan   
branch. It could do with some X-Men on a permanent basis. What  
powers have you got?'  
  
 'Um... do they have to be good powers?'  
  
 'No. Gambit's power's stink, but don't tell him I said so.' smiled  
Wolverine.   
  
 'Could you hand me a rose?' Wolverine sliced a yellow rose from the   
flower bed with a single claw and carefully passed it to Suzie. She  
held it between thumb and forefinger and concentrated. Suddenly the  
petals turned from yellow to red. 'There.' she said. 'That's how a  
rose should look.'  
  
 'Neat trick.'  
  
 'Stupid power.' added Suzie. 'I just bend the light so things change  
colour or make them brighter or duller or whatever. I can even manage  
stripes now, but I can't do it very well. The Genoshan government used  
me to illuminate stuff for night work.'  
  
 'Y'ask me kid, that's a very handy power. Charlie could make you do  
wonders with that. You'd be great for espionage. Hell, with enough  
practise I bet you could turn things invisible.'  
  
 'But I can't fly or blow things up or read minds or anything like  
that. I can't save the world by changing the colour of a rose.'  
  
 'There are more than enough mutants that fly and blow things up  
and read minds. A few that do all three. We don't need any more  
of them. Besides, who knows what the next threat to the world  
might be? It could be a super powered interior designer with really  
bad taste.'  
  
 Suzie laughed. 'Great, call me when he gets here.'   
  
 Just then Dr Craner entered the quad from the far side of the  
hospital. 'D'you think I can use my powers like make-up?' she asked.  
'I bet I could make myself look really pretty.'   
  
 Dr Craner drew near and Suzie clamped her hand on Wolvie's  
mouth to stop him from answering.   
  
 'Um... the X-Men are looking for you.' said Dr Craner.  
  
 'Must be that interior designer.' whispered Suzie. Wolverine  
gently pulled down her hand.  
  
 'What's up?'   
  
 'Someone tried to assassinate the President. Failed, thank God.  
I think. She said he looked like a man shaped lava lamp.'  
  
 'Sounds like I'm needed.' said Wolverine. He leapt to his feet and   
headed inside. Craner gave a long sigh and went back to his every   
day worrying, hardly noticing Suzie as she stared up at his handsome  
face.  
  
 'Uh... Suzie,' he said, registering her at last. 'Your lips have gone  
yellow. Are you feeling okay?'  
  
 'Yellow? Damn!' muttered Suzie. Craner headed back inside. 'Dr  
Craner!' she called out.  
  
 'Yes?'  
  
 She held out the red rose. 'Have a flower.' He took it from her and  
tucked it into his lapel. It turned back to yellow.   
  
 'Thank you Suzie.' he smiled. 'Glad to see you're getting better at  
using your powers.  
  
 As he walked away Suzie was overcome with joy, He had remembered  
her name! He had taken her flower! He had even congratulated her!  
This was the happiest day of her life, or at least, that's how it  
felt.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Four guards stood at the door and three more at each window of  
Genegineer Ryan's office at Genosha Mercy General. There was  
always a lot of security around her, what with all the fighting in the  
streets, the constant battle they called a civil war, but with the  
attempt on the President's life she was more in danger than ever.  
They had wanted to place guards within her room, but she couldn't   
allow that. She didn't even have security cameras in there, and  
had the room swept regularly just in case. She couldn't let her  
secret be discovered.  
  
 She drew shut the blinds and walked across to a wall mounted  
tribal shield, two spears set crossways behind it. She uncrossed  
the spears with a click and placed her hand on the red diamond  
in the centre of the shield. It split in the centre and parted like an  
automatic door. She stepped inside and the shield closed behind   
her. Then she made her way down a short, narrow passage to a  
metal cage which carried her down deep beneath the hospital  
into a vast metal chamber, the only feature of which was two huge  
metal doors framed in the warning colours of yellow and black.   
Three metal bars slid free at the top of the doors, then a larger  
bar midway, then the catch, the wheel-lock. Finally the doors  
opened out towards Ryan, a cloud of pinkish smoke consuming her.  
Amidst it all, silhouetted in bright light, was the figure of a man  
wrapped up in a cloak, a cyborg lens glowing in the place of his  
right eye, a nest of tubes leading out from his collar.   
  
 'I know why you are here Doctor.' said the figure. 'I assure you  
now that I had no involvement in the attempt on the President's  
life.'  
  
 'What's going on?' asked Ryan.   
   
 'I could ask you the same question. We were to destroy the mutates  
Dr Ryan. You and I are true patriots, we are sworn to rid Genosha  
of its' mutate problem and lead this nation to its' rightful destiny.  
But they're still here, Ryan.'  
  
 'Please be patient Patron. We have to move with caution, else  
we will encourage suspicion.'  
  
 'Wise words Genegineer, but still I tire of this waiting. We  
succeeded in isolating Legacy as soon as it emerged, whilst the rest  
of the world was still none the wiser. We unleashed it upon the  
mutates and made it spread like a plague, we deluded the President,  
the people, MacTaggert and her X-Man friends, but still those mutates  
live. We must eliminate the ones that stand in our way Ryan. Those who  
would save the mutates had best learn to save themselves.'  
  
 'The X-Men?'  
  
 'No. They aren't the real threat here. I want Moreau, Ransome,  
Majcomb and Craner dead. They are the real problem. Consider  
the X-Men a secondary target.' decided Patron. He began to  
sink back into the mists.  
  
 'Wait!' called out Ryan. 'What about the assassin!'  
  
 'Just pray he doesn't come after you, Doctor.' announced Patron.  
The doors whirred shut and locked themselves with four thuds  
a click and a whir. Ryan stood alone for a moment, contemplating  
her next move, then headed back to the elevator cage.  
  
 When she was back in her office she moved to her desk and  
began to dial a phone number. Just then the doors burst wide open  
and her bodyguards backed in, guns blazing down the corridor.  
Sasha dived towards the shield and wrestled with the spears  
before realising that they wouldn't open if the office was breached.  
A microwave blast shot through the guards and Holocaust himself   
loomed into the room, crashing through the door frame.   
  
 'Oh God!' gasped Ryan, crumbling to the ground.  
  
 More security came in through the window and were just as quickly  
dispatched. Then there was a gust of wind. The next thing to come  
in through the window was Gambit. He slammed his charged-up staff   
into Holocaust's cannon arm. There was an explosion inside   
Holocaust's armour that threw him backwards but it wasn't enough   
to break it. Gambit rushed to Ryan's side and swept her up in his  
arms. Holocaust recovered himself enough to fire at Ryan. Gambit was  
struck in the chest and knocked back out through the window.  
Ryan, however, was already safely in the arms of Quicksilver and  
being carried up to the roof where the Blackbird was waiting.  
  
 'I should drop you right now LeBeau.' claimed Beast as he   
crouched outside on the wall between the windows holding Gambit up  
by his jacket. 'Serve you right for disobeying orders.'  
  
 'We takin' stricter disciplinary action these days Beast?' asked  
Gambit as he swung himself onto the window ledge. Beast dragged  
him aside as a volley of razor sharp blades shot through the window  
to bounce of Holocaust's chest. They hardly caused a scratch.  
  
 'Fall back Warren.' called out Beast. 'The others will be inside in   
a moment.'   
  
 Sure enough Bishop and Wolverine entered the room at this point.  
Bishop aimed and was about to fire before realising that he   
recognised this opponent from somewhere.  
  
 'Who are you?' asked Bishop.  
  
 'The heir of Apocalypse.' grinned Holocaust. 'The one who will  
survive. I am Holocaust, and I am death.'  
  
 'You always this cliched?' asked Wolverine as he lunged forward  
with his claws. Holocaust moved aside and Wolverine swung back to   
catch up with him again, swiping his claws into the armour.   
Holocaust gave out a cry of horror and ducked backwards before  
realising that the cut was not deep enough. 'Chrissakes Bishop,  
shoot the bastard.' yelled Wolverine.  
  
 Bishop shook himself and fired, smashing Holocaust into the  
wall but not quite through it. Wolverine was already clear and  
moving for the door to allow Bishop more range. 'Any word  
yet Bets?' asked Wolverine.  
  
 Psylocke stood in the shadow of the doorway, a corona of  
invisible psi-energy cascading about her eyes like a butterfly.  
'He has no physical body Wolverine.' announced Psylocke.  
'He needs that armour to properly channel his blasts. If it  
is breached he will be no match for us.'  
   
 'So that's why he backed away from me so quickly.' said  
Wolverine. 'Send word to Gambit, he should be able to follow  
my lead.'  
  
 Wolverine returned to the fray, ducking beneath Bishop's blasts  
to get closer to Holocaust, whose large frame was too clumsy in  
the confined space of the office. Fearing Wolverine's adamantium  
claws he again backed away, still unleashing his psionic blasts  
upon the enemy.  
  
 Bishop ceased his fire at Psylocke's request and Wolverine came  
in for the kill. Holocaust was stuck back against the wall and made a   
desperate attempt to blast Wolverine away. Just then Gambit, barely  
recovered from being hit before, swung down from the window and  
slipped three hyper-charged cards into the cuts made by Wolverine's   
claws. Gambit leapt back out of the window hoping Beast would have  
the foresight to catch him again and Wolverine threw Bishop to the   
ground as the cards detonated. Holocaust had time for half a   
scream before disappearing, armour and all.  
  
 'Damn.' said Wolverine. 'Teleported.'   
  
 - - - -   
  
 Sugarman screamed.  
   
 'Whatdoyoumeanhe's HERE?' he yelled, his sharp tongue slicing through  
the air like a ribbon in the wind.  
  
 'Holocaust tried to kill Ryan and Anjou.' replied the  
sweet-and-innocent Melissa. 'Have you been sleeping all this time?'  
  
 'Iwas tired.' hissed Sugarman. 'Sides which, I ain't got cameras  
inthem offices. Everytime I put 'em in someone takes 'em out again,  
and I know it ain'tthem.'  
  
 Sugarman slammed his hammer into a television monitor.  
  
 'Bastard.' he muttered. 'Howdid he get over here anyhow?'  
  
 'More importantly, does he know about you?'  
  
 'Buggershitchrist.' snapped Sugarman. 'Good point. An' I thought  
*he* was bad. At least *he* hadsome decency and reserve. Think  
if I ignore him he'll goaway?'  
  
 'Holocaust or *him*?'   
  
 'Think either of 'em'll go away?'  
  
 'No.'  
  
 'Shitshitshit.'  
  
 'What're you going to do boss?' asked Melissa sweetly.  
  
 'Same as always.' grinned Sugarman, discoloured saliva dripping   
from the corners of his mouth. 'Deal.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 They say there is a photograph taken in Asia during the Second  
World War that shows three Japanese soldiers posing on a  
railway track. They are smiling, arms cast across one another's   
shoulders, a frozen slice of happiness in the midst of war. A train  
is also visible in the photograph, directly behind them.   
  
 A moment after the photograph was taken, all three soldiers were   
killed. The photographer leapt clear in time.   
  
 The photographer has never been traced, and the circumstances  
of the picture remain a mystery, but whatever the truth of what  
happened that day, the photograph remains a chilling momento mori,   
an image of imminent death.   
  
 Walking the wards this afternoon, Beast sees that same image  
a hundred times. All about him are those who are about to die from   
the terrible ravages of the Legacy Virus. For all their research  
he still feels he can no more stop this disease than the soldiers  
could stop an oncoming train.   
   
 'What-ho, Doctor Craner.' said Beast, joining the head of the  
hospital in Ward Three. 'I was just on my way to the laboratories.  
Care to join me?'  
   
 'Sure.' agreed Craner. 'Actually, can we stop off for a coffee  
along the way? I could do with a quick break.'  
  
 'Doctoring is an exhausting practice.' agreed Beast. 'Sometimes  
I wish I had pursued my first great love of stamp collecting, but  
then you know what they say; philately will get you nowhere.'  
  
 'That's bad.' cringed Dr Craner with a smile.  
  
 'I have a million of 'em.' claimed Beast. 'Where is the beloved  
Genegineer?'  
  
 'In my office actually, arguing with Storm. She seems to be acting   
as if we've kidnapped her. It was only for her own safety that you  
brought her here.'   
  
 'Too true.' said Beast. 'Can't have her at risk now, can we? Besides,  
it doesn't hurt to have her where we can see her.'  
  
 'Now now.' scowled Craner jokingly. 'I give you my word that she's  
a trustworthy woman.'  
  
 'Good riddance!' screamed Dr Ryan as she marched past them in the   
corridor, shouting her abuse back towards Craner's office. Beast  
gave a long heavy sigh and joined Storm inside.  
  
 'Our house guest doesn't appreciate our company?' he asked.  
  
 'She called for a car to take her back to Mercy.' explained Storm.  
'I told her it wasn't safe, there are any number of street gangs  
waging open war across all of Genosha, not least Hammer Bay.  
She insisted she knew the risks, and we have no right to keep  
her here. Do you think she is involved in the poisonings?'  
  
 'I wouldn't count her out yet.' claimed Beast. 'Bishop, Warren  
and Gambit will be able to find out more tonight when they   
break into Diamond, I should think.'  
  
 'Let us hope so.' agreed Storm.   
  
 - - - -   
  
 For Professor Charles Xavier it was still early morning, and a lonely  
morning at that. Everyone was gone, even the infirmary was empty,  
which made a nice change, and both Blackbirds had gone from the hanger  
(See current issues of X-Force). Still, it was nice to have some time  
to relax, to be by one's self, try and forget the ordeals of recent  
days, however impossible that may seem. He drifted about the mansion  
without aim or purpose, accidentally finding himself in various  
people's rooms, where, well, it wouldn't hurt to have a quick look   
around would it? Maybe he would find some of the missing towels. It  
was strange how many towels seemed to have suddenly vanished. He had  
checked the laundry room twice over, but to no avail.  
  
 He was just giving Gambit's room the once over, wondering why he  
needed to keep *quite* so many of... those things in his bedside  
drawer, when he noticed something very odd. Outside. There was a cow  
on the lawn.   
  
 He quickly realised that it must have wandered in from one of the  
small farms neighbouring his property, perhaps one of old Mr  
Harrison's herd. His stomach rumbled. What were the chances, he  
thought, that he could keep the cow? It looked like it had plenty of  
meat on it. They could have a barbecue. It was a warm day today, the  
spell would last until the end of the week most likely, and no-one  
would notice one missing cow. The rest of the X-Men would love a  
barbecue.  
  
 Dark clouds drifted in overhead and suddenly it began to rain. The  
cow looked up as far as it's thick neck would allow, which isn't far,  
and expressed mild surprise in the form of a low moo. Then it wandered  
off to pastures new.  
  
 Well, he could have sworn they were in for a warm spell. Ah well,  
maybe in the Summer...  
  
 And with that thought, Charles Xavier made his way towards Scott's  
empty room to look through his photo album.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 It was Psylocke who was to see them first. Hers was the natural  
vantage point, once again sitting in the Blackbird cockpit to read,  
slightly distracted by Warren blowing in her ear. Sasha Ryan's  
car had barely left the hospital grounds when about twenty   
street mutates came running up the hill towards the Blackbird.  
  
 'Oh hell.' muttered Psylocke. Warren looked up and saw them  
too. 'We'd better get this thing airborne Warren, don't want   
them wrecking it.'  
  
 Wolverine, Quicksilver, Bishop, Storm and Gambit came charging  
out to meet the enemy as the Blackbird lifted into the air.  
'I shall check if Dr Ryan has made it safely past this maelstrom.'  
declared Storm, rising up on the wind.  
  
 'I wouldn't bother.' shouted Beast from a window. 'Strange how   
they attacked once she was gone. Just how many calls did she make  
from Dr Craner's office anyway?'  
  
 'You have no faith in human nature Hank.' mocked Storm.  
  
 'I have no faith in people who call themselves Genegineers.'  
argued Hank.  
  
 Behind Beast, not bothering to watch the fray, was Dr Craner.  
He had seen the hospital attacked many times before, for any  
number of reasons. Usually the Magistrates would turn out in  
a matter of minutes. Today they weren't even needed, the X-Men  
would have it all under control. Craner decided he had better   
go and check on the patients, tell them not to worry. Again.  
  
 As he opened the office door a mutate leapt at him, slashing  
his arm with a blade hand.  
  
 'Dr Craner I presume?' hissed the mutate as Craner fell to the  
floor with a scream of pain. The blade descended towards  
Craner's neck. It ceased to be a problem when a flying   
computer monitor smashed the mutate into the corridor.   
  
 'Sorry about your computer Doctor.' said Beast, offering a hand  
whilst simultaneously dealing a second blow to the mutate's  
cranium just to keep him down.  
  
 'S'alright.' muttered Craner. 'Ow. He tried to kill me.'  
  
 'Well observed my mildly mutilated amigo.' said Beast. 'It would  
seem the external attack is a cover for an internal one. You're  
the third attempted assassination today, though it would appear  
Holocaust is not available this time. The question is, were you the  
only target?'  
  
 'I don't see why I'm a target at all. I'm not political, I just help  
people.' said Craner. 'Dr Majcomb, now *she's* political.'  
  
 'Ah yes.' said Beast. 'Oh my.'  
  
 - - - -  
  
  Doctors Majcomb and Yeung were hard at work in a laboratory,  
reviewing Legacy case notes and processing tissue samples,  
when the assassin entered.   
  
 She recognised Majcomb at once and attempted to fry her with some  
form of heat blast. Majcomb threw herself to the ground and scampered  
behind a table. Yeung wasn't sure what to do, especially as she was  
still an open target. She *was* hanging out with the X-Men now, so  
maybe she should do something heroic.   
  
 *Try ducking* said Psylocke's voice in her head. Yeung  
ducked and the window behind her shattered as Archangel's  
feather blades shot through them, several hitting and paralysing  
the attacker.  
  
 'I'm getting better at shooting through windows.' said Archangel  
as he landed inside the room and helped the two doctors to  
their feet.   
  
 *And it was even closed this time.* added Psylocke, who was   
still safely inside the Blackbird on the roof. *Thanks for the  
warning Hank.*  
  
 *My pleasure Elizabeth.* said Beast. *Now, shall we help our  
team-mates dispose of the rest of the incumbent aggressors?*  
  
 - - - -   
  
Later:  
  
 'Isn't Wolverine the one who usually breaks into things?' asked  
Quicksilver as he returned from a quick tour of the Science Park  
Complex.   
  
 'Some of us aren't without a little experience in the field  
ourselves, mon ami.' argued Gambit as he cut a hole in the window of  
the bungalow that was the Genosha offices of Diamond Pharmaceuticals.  
'Now quiet, there're security guards all over the place.'  
  
 'Yes, but they're all unconscious.' boasted Quicksilver. 'Aren't you  
glad Storm told you to bring me along?'  
  
 'Probably because you need more experience working with  
this team.' argued Bishop. 'If you're staying. I doubt she's  
giving you any... special attention.'  
  
 'Be jealous if she was Bishop?' goaded Archangel.  
  
 'Not from what I hear.' mumbled Gambit. 'I think Betsy's more his  
type.'  
  
 'What?' snapped Archangel angrily.  
  
 'Shhhh.' said Gambit, gently disconnecting the alarm and   
sliding open the window. He climbed inside, followed by   
Bishop and Quicksilver, whilst Archangel stood guard outside   
and stewed in his own suspicions.  
  
 Once inside, the light came on.  
  
 'Who did that?' hissed Gambit.  
  
 'I did.' said a ferret like man stood in the doorway of his own  
office. 'Doctor Frederic Wertham. I'm sorry gentlemen, but you're  
under arrest for breaking and...' Wertham suddenly slumped to the  
ground thanks to a chop to the back of the neck from Quicksilver.  
  
 'I wonder what he was doing here at this time of night?' said   
Bishop.  
  
 'Who knows? Split up and search the place.' ordered Gambit.  
He left the room with Bishop whilst Quicksilver sat himself   
in front of the computer to see what he could find.  
  
 Gambit separated from Bishop in the corridor to explore the   
sprawling west side of the bungalow. In the first room he entered  
the door locked behind him. He turned on the light to find a  
familiar face in front of his own.  
  
 'Shame on you, Gambit. You interrupted my discussions with  
Dr Wertham.' said Sinister. 'Whatever am I to do with you?'  
  
**************************************************************  
To Be Concluded!   
  



	25. Uncanny X-Men #333: Marked for Xtinction

This is a piece of X-Writers fanfic. Many of the characters and   
things and stuff herein belong to Marvel. We have no money,   
we do this only to entertain, therefore, in the interests of all  
parties, we kindly request not to be sued.  
  
Special note: In Uncanny #331 a character appeared with the   
name Befora. This was an error which can be blamed on the   
author's usually perfect handwriting. The character is referred  
to in this issue as Befana. Befana and Befora are the same  
character. Only the name has been changed. : )  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
Uncanny X-Men #333  
Marked For X-Tinction Part Three - Mortality  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
With thanks to Oradee Imvised and Jorge Yao  
Edited by Marysia  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
 It was late, Dr Alice Yeung knew she should be getting to bed, but  
something was keeping her awake. She decided it was probably her  
conscience. Still, another few minutes wouldn't hurt, she could just  
sort through this last file of case notes, maybe read through  
MacTaggart's articles again, call up some charts from the database,  
then she'd go straight to bed. Just another few minutes.  
  
 She leant back in the worn out leather chair. The hospital hadn't the  
funds to replace the old furniture, though back in the days when it  
had been a private clinic the furniture would have been top budgeting  
priority, or maybe just below 'swimming pool'. Things had changed.  
Genosha was a mess. Alice had never been here before, but she'd known  
all about it, you didn't have to be a scientist to know about Genosha.  
And now here she was, in the middle of a civil war, trying to fight a  
plague, drinking too much coffee.  
  
 Of course, she wouldn't even be here now if she hadn't agreed to help  
out Hank. Well, not agree as such. She'd sort of imposed herself upon  
him. Escaping a painful divorce, running to an old friend. Lost. And  
found. Yes, she'd found something now. She wasn't an X-Man, she wasn't  
even a mutant, but she could have a cause and a fight if she so  
wanted. Maybe this way she could make up for... past mistakes.    
   
 She sat bolt upright again. Her mind was wandering, she had work to  
do. It would only take another few minutes.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Gambit froze. Not from fear or cowardice, but because he couldn't  
think what else to do. He didn't want to stay. He didn't want to go.  
So he froze.  
  
 'Whatever am I to do with you?' asked Mr Sinister, smiling a smile  
that was only a thought away from a frown.   
  
 'Where is she?' whispered Gambit.  
  
 Sinister stepped closer, daring Gambit to flinch. 'Who?' he asked  
with mock innocence. 'Your girlfriend? Your one true love? Remind me  
again, what was her name? You have so many, I find it hard to keep  
track.'  
  
 'Rogue.' said Gambit dryly, resisting the bait. 'Where is she?'  
  
 'I don't have to answer to you LeBeau.' hissed Sinister, the smile  
now caving in. 'Quite the contrary in fact. You've interfered where  
you weren't wanted. I thought I trained you better than that.'  
  
 'I didn't know you were here.' explained Gambit, still cold, still  
trying not to betray his feelings.  
  
 'I should hope not. Very few people do.' replied Sinister. 'Of  
course, you have to keep this secret just between the two of us now.  
We can't have the X-Men finding out. After all, once they start  
digging who knows what they might find?' Gambit looked straight into  
that sickly white face and wished he hadn't. Sinister would never  
fold. Not to him.   
  
 'I have you Gambit.' said Sinister. 'I won't let go. You have no  
choice. Go back to the X-Men, tell them you found nothing, let us both  
carry on with our lives. Until I call on you again.' Silence.  
'Gambit?'  
  
 'D'accord.' said Gambit.  
  
 It was then that the door crashed in and Bishop entered, aiming his  
target laser straight into the red diamond on Sinister's head. 'I've  
heard enough!' bellowed Bishop. 'I knew you weren't to be trusted  
LeBeau.'    
   
 - - - -   
  
 In the office through which the X-Men had broken in to Diamond  
Pharmaceuticals Quicksilver was making his way through every word and  
number in Dr Wertham's pocket address book trying to find the correct  
computer password. With each attempt the computer denied him access  
and reset itself, meaning he had to wait for the damned thing to load  
up again. For a man well accustomed to frustration, this was as bad as  
it got.  
  
 'Evil machine.' muttered Pietro as he tried the seventieth name in  
the book. Dr Soti. He typed it in and pressed return. Access granted.  
'Good God.' he gasped.  
  
 The screen filled up with the Diamond logo, which flickered away to  
make room for the program manager. A couple of clicks of the mouse and  
Pietro was speed reading his way through the files. Sasha Ryan was  
mentioned, but he had expected that, it was hardly a secret that  
Diamond was doing work for the Genoshan government. What he needed was  
to find out about the work itself. He opened the fifth file inside of  
a minute and waited for it to load up.   
  
 Then he heard another click. He scanned the room. Wertham was still  
lying on the ground where Quicksilver had left him. So where had the  
noise come from? Then he spotted the security camera, and noted the  
ominous red glow in it's lens. He was out the window a moment before  
the laser fire strafed across the room.  
  
 'Can't handle the user friendly hardware Pietro?' asked Archangel who  
remained standing outside on guard.  
  
 'Shut up.' replied Quicksilver.  
  
 Meanwhile, the file had come up on the screen. It had just got as far  
as the name 'Dr Yeung' before the laser blew it up.  
   
 - - - -   
  
 Shooting Sinister was never really an option, Bishop knew that. He'd  
done it before and it hadn't worked. So shooting Gambit would seem the  
more logical remedy. He swung one gun to target LeBeau and kept the  
other one trained on Sinister. Except Sinister wasn't there anymore.  
He tried to locate him without losing Gambit, and that was when the  
gas rolled into the room.  
  
 'Don't move LeBeau, I've got no problem with shooting you.' insisted  
Bishop. The gas began to rise and Bishop began to feel sleepy. 'On  
second thoughts move, we're getting out of here.' He turned to the  
door. Sinister was blocking it. He smiled, opened his mouth, and blew  
a trail of gas into Bishop's face.  
  
 A moment later, Gambit was lost.  
  
 'Wha' happened?' he asked frantically, looking around, trying to  
identify the landscape. Westchester. But bombed out. Then he spotted  
Rogue.  
  
 'Rogue!' he called. 'You're free!' She didn't respond. She didn't  
even move. Nor did the child in her arms.   
  
 'This isn't real LeBeau.' said Sinister as he loomed up behind the  
cajun. 'This is Bishop's mindscape, and a simply charming place it is  
too. I thought it might be prudent to do a little erasing, remove the  
memories of this unfortunate encounter. And don't say I never do  
anything for you.'  
  
 'Why is Rogue here?' asked Gambit. 'Why is she carryin' dat baby?' He  
turned and saw Psylocke on a bridge. Two Psylockes on a bridge. One  
with purple hair, one with black. Then he saw Beast and Cyclops,  
twisted, darker versions of the men Gambit knew. And there was Gambit  
himself, in the office with Sinister, the exact scene Bishop had   
stumbled upon. And then there was a slice of Morlock tunnels, and  
Trevor Fitzroy. And a television screen bearing the face of Jean Grey.  
She was talking, but Gambit couldn't hear the words. She turned,  
surprised, and screamed something at someone off camera. Then the  
image... or else her face... disintegrated.  
  
 'Hmm.' pondered Sinister. 'I must say I wasn't expecting to find  
anything nearly as interesting as all this in Bishop's mind. We have  
the past, the present, we even have the future, but then there's  
this.' he said, walking across to the alternate versions of Beast and  
Cyclops.  
  
 Gambit started to walk across to Rogue. 'I'm sorry Gambit.' called  
out Sinister. 'I really can't allow you to see any more.' The images  
from Bishop's mind fell away in front of Gambit's eyes and he was  
consumed by darkness.  
  
 'Rogue!' he screamed as he lost her again. 'Rogue!'  
  
 And he was still whispering her name when he woke up on the office  
floor. Bishop stood in a trance besides him. He shook him awake.  
Bishop's eyes blinked a few times, and suddenly he was back to life.  
  
 'LeBeau, get your hands off me.' snapped Bishop. 'Have you found  
anything?'   
  
 Gambit was stunned. Sinister had done it, Bishop had forgotten the  
whole thing. 'No.' said Gambit as calmly as he could manage. 'Not a  
thing.'  
  
 Just then they were joined by Quicksilver. 'Aren't you done?' he  
asked. 'You've been here long enough.'  
  
 Gambit checked his watch. An hour since they had broken in to the  
building. So...  
  
 'Yes.' said Bishop. 'We're done.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Morning, and Suzie was feeling terrible. Of course, she felt terrible  
most days, that's what it's like when you're dying, but today she felt  
really bad, and she'd managed to change the colour of her night dress  
in her sleep. It was not a good sign. So she'd decided to cheer  
herself up and go up to the roof to check out the X-Men's jet, the  
Blackbird. It was without a doubt one of the coolest things she'd ever  
seen, sleek and mean and fierce as hell.  
  
 The hatch descended to form a ramp and a woman emerged. She was the  
most beautiful women Suzie could ever remember seeing. Slim and tall,  
she looked like a dancer, with an air of dignity and a hint of danger.  
Suzie suddenly knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. A ninja.  
  
 Psylocke didn't see the little girl in the wheelchair at first. She  
was too busy taking in the view of Hammer Bay, or rather, of the  
silver blue sea that it touched on. When she did see Suzie she stopped  
dead.  
  
 'Oh.' said Psylocke.   
  
 'Hi.' said Suzie, suddenly very nervous. Something was wrong. A  
moment ago this woman had looked like she wasn't afraid of anything.  
Now she looked terrified, and when an X-Man was afraid of something,  
shouldn't she be afraid too?  
   
 'Which one are you?' asked Suzie.  
  
 Psylocke didn't say a word. She just stared down the ramp at the girl  
and took a step backwards. The she realised she was treating the poor  
girl like a cockroach. 'Psylocke.' said Psylocke hesitantly. There,  
that was better. That was *much* more human. Psylocke made a mental  
note to kick herself later.  
  
 'I'm Suzie.' said Suzie, but the enthusiasm had gone from her voice.  
This wasn't like with Wolverine.   
  
 Psylocke bit her lip. *Just go down the ramp and say hello.* she told  
herself. *Make the girl feel better.* But she didn't. She just stood  
there paralysed, terrified.  
  
 Suzie didn't move either. Well, she'd never get up that ramp. She'd  
end up sliding backwards and falling off the roof. 'Well.' she said.  
'It was nice meeting you.' Then she began to wheel herself back to the  
elevator.   
  
 And then Psylocke was supposed to shout 'No, wait, I'm sorry. Let me  
show you around the Blackbird.'   
  
 All the way back across the roof Suzie listened for the call.  Even  
as she waited for the elevator to come back up. Even as she got in and  
pressed for the ground floor. Even as the doors slid shut.  
  
 'No, wait, I'm sorry!' shouted Psylocke. But the doors were shut, and  
Suzie could no longer hear her. Psylocke sat down on the ramp and  
stared out to sea, and tried to convince herself that she wasn't  
crying, she was just getting used to the light.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Blackfriars, one of the most dangerous districts of Hammer Bay, a  
nest of broken mutate ghettos, had for many years been home to a small  
group of mutants, both Genoshans and outsiders, who did what they  
could to resist the exploitative Genoshan government. They had  
achieved very little. With the fall of that government they had not  
abandoned their activities. There were still too many problems, and  
besides, most of them were wanted criminals, if they gave up the fight  
they would have nothing left. So they fought on.  
  
 Befana was the watchdog for the Blackfriars Underground. From her  
aerie on the Towgate Tower she had warned her colleagues of many a  
Magistrate attack both day and night. Italian by birth, she had  
visited Genosha in her early teens and fallen in love with a local  
boy. They had written hundreds of letters when they were parted, but  
one day the letters stopped coming. She thought maybe he'd found  
someone else. In truth, he'd been mindwiped. Another mutate slave to  
fuel the Genoshan economy. She'd come out after him, not then knowing  
the truth, and when she had found the truth she knew she had to stay.  
There was every chance he could still be alive out there somewhere. .  
  
 She swung the telescope around into George Plaza and recognised the  
visitors this time. Even in the bright light of day her corona of  
green light was plainly visible. Of course the Magistrates could see  
it too, but she wasn't afraid of them, not anymore.  
  
  - - - -  
  
 A few minutes later Storm, Majcomb and Quicksilver had arrived once  
again on the steps of the Blackfriars library, perhaps the least used  
library in the world, possibly because it didn't house any books. This  
time they didn't even need to knock.  
  
 'Hello again my dear friends.' boomed the massive voice of the  
massive man known across Genosha - though only by a very select few -  
as Ward. 'So glad you made it here in one piece. There were patrols  
this way earlier this morning.'  
  
 'There are patrols this way most mornings.' added Ward's  
comparatively diminutive aide, Pistol, from somewhere amongst the  
shadows of the empty bookshelves. The trio made their way inside.   
  
 'Well.' said Ward. 'Let me think. You came about the poisonings,  
yes?'  
  
 'And you said you had a man looking into it, and he would be  
reporting back to you today.' added Renee Majcomb. 'Is he here?'   
  
 'He is.' said Ward. 'As always, he has done me proud.' Ward gestured  
to a desk in the corner of the library where a sand-blond man in the  
familiar outfit of a Magistrate sat, drinking a bottled beer and  
reading the Genosha Times.  
  
 'A Magistrate?' said Storm aghast. 'You promised us your best man.'  
  
 'Magistrate Tyburn *is* my best man.' claimed Ward. 'He has been in  
my service for as long as he has worked for the government. He is what  
you might call a spy. And very efficient too.'  
  
 'A spy.' smiled Tyburn. 'There's a romantic image. Sorry to say the  
reality doesn't quite do it justice.' He stood up and walked across to  
join the others.   
  
 'Can he be trusted?' asked Storm with disdain.  
  
 'Can you?' asked Tyburn. They were definitely not going to get along.  
  
 Ward began to light up a cigar. 'Tyburn has two possible leads. One  
is a girl called Melissa Sweetly...'  
  
 'A name to conjure with.' muttered Pistol as he emerged to take the  
cigar out of Ward's hand and handed him a packet of gum.  
  
 'Pistol!' growled Ward. 'Apparently she works in the typing pool at  
Government House and has been seen in some very odd places during her  
lunch hours, including at the government laboratories with your friend  
Bishop.'  
  
 'Chew the gum.' replied Pistol. 'You gave up smoking.'  
  
 'Don't make me kill you Pistol.' whispered Ward. 'Ms Sweetly is  
almost certainly an operative for somebody. Tyburn has been trailing  
her but lost her every time.'  
  
 'She's a clever girl.' said Tyburn defensively.  
  
 'Best man we've got eh?' mocked Pistol, before adding in Ward's  
direction, 'Kill me if you like, but you're not having a cigar.'  
  
 'He knows who she *isn't* working for, which only leaves a few  
options. So she could be your suspect.' Ward pulled a second cigar out  
of the inside pocket of his waistcoat and began to unwrap it.   
  
 'And the other suspect?' asked Storm.  
  
 'Genegineer Ryan.' said Tyburn. 'At least, there's something not  
right with her. I can't say what it is for certain, but... well, she  
does something in her office.'  
  
 'Ward does all kinds of things in his office but he's not poisoning  
anybody.' said Pistol as he made a play for the second cigar. Ward  
swung back his arm and knocked Pistol into the bookshelves.   
  
 'I know who I'd poison first.' Ward claimed as he lit up.  
  
 'I got a bug into her office whilst I was doing a security sweep.'  
explained Tyburn.   
  
 'How very secure.' commented Majcomb.  
  
 'It's impossible to bug that room. I think she sweeps it herself  
after we're done. She must have been distracted yesterday, and I don't  
blame her after the attempt on the Presidents life. That Holocaust  
loony sounded like trouble.'  
  
 'You recorded the fight?' asked Quicksilver.  
  
 'Yeah, half the fight, the bug was destroyed in the middle of it all.  
More importantly I recorded silence.'  
  
 'That's important?' asked Pistol, trying to massage his own bruised  
neck.  
  
 'She was in the office. Supposedly. But she didn't make a sound. I  
mean, I would have heard her moving about if she'd been there, but she  
just disappeared for about five minutes. If she'd left the room it'd  
be on the hallway security cameras. She didn't.'  
  
 'So we have two hunches to work from? Nothing conclusive?' asked Dr  
Majcomb. 'We waited two days for a couple of conspiracy theories?'  
  
 'You want more? Give me another couple of days and you might get it.  
Then again you might not.' said Tyburn between swigs of beer. 'Like I  
said, there's a world of difference between the romance of spies and  
the reality. You want hard facts? If we had 'em we'd you'd be  
presenting the case for the prosecution in court right now rather than  
running around playing superheroes.'  
  
 Storm definitely didn't like this man. 'Very well.' she said. 'We  
will work with what you have given us. Thank you Magistrate Tyburn.'  
  
 'Don't thank him yet.' said Ward. 'He's going with you.'  
  
 'What?' asked Storm as calmly as she could manage.  
  
 'Not on your life.' snapped Tyburn. 'I've got work to do.'  
  
 Ward smiled. 'I just know you'll get on like a house on fire.'  
  
\----  
  
 Melissa Sweetly left her desk, grabbed her handbag, and headed for  
the stairwell. She reached the car park in the basement and climbed  
in. As she drove off she was passed by a figure moving so fast she  
didn't even see it. As the wind picked up and howled through the  
elderly chassis of her beloved Nissan Cherry, she didn't notice a  
woman swooping high overhead in the veil of a single cloud. As she  
turned a busy corner she paid no heed to the Magistrates she could see  
on patrol. She had other concerns. She had to get to the meeting she  
had arranged between a certain glowing assassin and her very own  
bloated boss. As she reached the Hautala Marina, a grim grey dock that  
had been in the middle of renovations before the money ran out, she  
checked around her for signs of life and then made her way to the  
boat, certain that she hadn't been followed. She was very thorough  
about that sort of thing.  
  
 Storm descended at a reasonable distance and was immediately joined  
by Quicksilver carrying Tyburn. 'She entered that vessel over there.'  
claimed Storm indicating the elderly yacht with the faded word  
'Sugarmouse' etched on the side. 'Pietro, go on ahead, we will be  
close behind you.'  
  
 'I doubt it.' replied Quicksilver. He sped to the side of the yacht  
and stealthily peered inside. His eyes took a moment to adapt to the  
shadows, then he saw her, sitting staring at him from a chair in the  
far corner of the cabin.  
  
 'Hello there.' she smiled. She raised a hand and blew, spraying a  
small cloud of fine white powder towards him. He backed away but it  
circled about him, chased him. He couldn't possibly avoid it all. As  
it set on his skin it spread.  
  
 'What is this? What have you done to me woman?' asked Quicksilver as  
he found himself trapped in this powder shell. He tried to shake it  
off but in no time at all he was covered.  
  
 'Pietro!' gasped Storm as she came to his side. She tried to blow the  
powder off him with a gentle gust of wind. The powder flew apart.  
There was nothing beneath it.   
  
 'Damn it.' snapped Tyburn as he clambered into the cabin. 'The  
woman's gone. I told you she was clever.'  
  
 'What happened to Pietro?' asked Storm.  
  
 'Don't you people use codenames?' asked Tyburn. 'Pietro doesn't sound  
much like a codename to me.' Storm glared at him and he decided not to  
force the issue. 'He's over there.' said Tyburn, pointing across to a  
jetty where the powder was coming back together in the shape of  
Quicksilver. This time it gently dissolved, leaving Quicksilver whole  
again. 'Lucky you, eh?' grinned Tyburn.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Sasha Ryan pressed a button and the blinds in her office drew shut.  
Then she made her way to the tribal shield on the wall and took a deep  
breath. Patron was calling for her again, no doubt to ask why Craner,  
Majcomb, Moreau and Ransome were all still alive. She had tried to  
deal with them, but at such short notice it had been difficult to find  
good people. The X-Men had swiftly dealt with the assassins at the  
hospital, and according to all reports Jenny Ransome had dispatched   
the one sent to the house she shared with Moreau with equal ease  
thanks to her super strength.   
  
 Ryan swung back the two spears and pressed her palm against the red  
diamond. The shield separated and opened and she stepped forward.  
'Well,' said a voice behind her. 'It would seem my hunch was right  
after all.'  
  
 Ryan turned in horror but saw nothing.  
  
 'Let the psi-shield drop now Bets.' said Wolverine. Like the shimmer  
of a waterfall the three X-Men came into view in the centre of the  
office.   
  
 'Hello Dr Ryan.' said Beast. 'Delighted to see you again. It would  
seem I should have trusted my instincts about you.'  
  
 Ryan said nothing. She just turned and ran down the hidden passage,  
the doors swinging shut behind her. Wolverine unleashed his claws,  
slashed through the shield, and came straight after her.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Melissa Sweetly regathered herself in the subterranean headquarters  
of her boss, Sugarman. He was sitting at a computer screen, typing.  
'Whereis he?' he asked as he furiously wrote out what appeared to be  
his last will and testament.  
  
 'What do I get?' asked Melissa staring over his shoulder.  
  
 'Shot.' said Sugarman. 'Unless youtellme where heis.'  
  
 'He should be teleporting in any moment...' She turned and paused. A  
flash of orange and two figures appeared, one unmistakeably Holocaust,  
the other a man enmeshed in metal. Dr David Moreau. '... now.' said  
Melissa.  
  
 'Moreau?' gasped Sugarman. 'Nowthere's someone I thought I'd neversee  
again. Youshould be dead.'  
  
 'Sugarman!' boomed Holocaust. 'I hereby claim Genosha as the second  
conquest of the son of Apocalypse.'  
  
 'Second?' muttered Sugarman in Melissa's ear.  
  
 'His father's puppet controls Latveria.' whispered Melissa.  
   
 'Ohyeah.' said Sugarman. He looked up, and up a bit further, at  
Holocaust. 'Sowhat?' he snapped. 'Genoshais mine, I built it. You  
haven't the wits to controlit. Notwithout me.'  
  
 'From what I've seen you've lost all control.' claimed Holocaust.  
'And I'm sure the first Genegineer can more than handle the fruits of  
his own labours. Still, there may be a place for such as you in the  
new world order. Surrender to me control of Genosha I may yet let you  
live, for you have served my father before me and proved yourself one  
of the strong.'  
  
 'Okay.' said Sugarman, and he would have shrugged if he had any  
shoulders. 'Youwin. Genoshais yours.' Melissa nearly choked on her own  
amazement.  
  
 Holocaust for a moment did not react. He seemed slightly disappointed  
that there hadn't been a fight. Then he began to laugh. 'As easily as  
that I come to control two of the greatest nations in this world.' he  
boomed. 'Soon all the world shall know the power of Holocaust.' His  
laughter echoed throughout the chamber, and it seemed to everyone  
present that Holocaust actually believed in his achievement. Yet all  
he had truly done was take the crown of a dethroned king.   
  
 'Er... youhaven't won yet.' claimed Sugarman. 'Genosha is  
fallingapart, what'reyou gonna do aboutit?  
  
 Holocaust stopped laughing. He started thinking. Perhaps for the  
first time in a very long while.   
  
 'Ohdear.' grinned Sugarman. 'Didn't thinkthat far ahead, didyou?  
Youwill be a disappointment toyour father.'  
  
 'Apocalypse is dead. Now there is only Holocaust.'   
  
 'Uh-huh, yup, sure.' sneered Sugarman. 'Yougot no idea haveyou?'  
  
 Holocaust raised his cannon arm and aimed it at Sugarman. 'Do not  
speak to me that way.' he insisted. 'I am the future ruler of the  
world.'  
  
 'Idon't thinkso.' claimed Sugarman. 'Y'seeHolly oldpal, youjust been  
tested.'  
  
 'And you have failed.' said a new voice.  
  
 Holocaust fell silent. He knew this voice only too well. The dread  
form of his 'father' drifted from the shadows where he had been hidden  
all the while. Sugarman had known. It was a trick.  
  
 'You have pursued the wrong path.' Apocalypse announced. 'You have  
failed to use your strength to wrest power from those who would wield  
it. You have failed to show your intellectual might when it was  
needed. This was your test, and you have failed. You would have been  
my prince, now you must be my servant. You are lucky that I let you  
live at all.'  
  
 Silence rang out loud and clear. Then, starting from a quiet chuckle,  
it became Sugarman's turn to laugh. A moment later and he was  
uncontrollable. Melissa gave a resigned sigh and tried hitting him in  
the belly with his own hammer, but he was not to be stopped.  
  
 'My Omega plan has begun, Holocaust.' Apocalypse told him. 'My great  
victory is soon at hand. I have built up my forces, made my first  
conquests, begun to destroy those who would oppose me. Now the  
struggle has begun, I must have the strongest by my side. You are not  
he. I will find another, and you shall serve beneath him.'  
  
 David Moreau took in the tableau before him, the monster Holocaust,  
once seeming so terrifying, now laid low. The repulsive Sugarman in  
convulsions of hysteria with his beautiful aide by his side. And  
between them a man who might one day claim all that was as his own. He  
spoke once more. 'Genosha will fall, it is a weak nation. For now, we  
shall take our leave.' Then there was a flash of light, and suddenly  
all of them were gone. Genegineer Moreau was alone, and nothing was  
any better than before. He made his way across to Sugarman's control  
centre and tried to make contact with the outside world.  
  
 - - - -    
  
 Sasha Ryan stood in front of the two huge doors that hid the man she  
knew as Patron. 'Open up!' she screamed frantically, banging against  
them, the sound echoing about her ears. She began to cry. It was all  
falling apart. Then she was not alone, Wolverine was by her side,  
dragging her away.  
  
 'Tell me Doc,' said Wolverine. 'What's behind the door?'  
  
 Then there was a click. A second click. A third. The door was opening  
up. The smoke began to billow outwards and surround her as the same  
dark figure of the cyborg Patron stepped forward.  
  
 'It's no use asking her, Wolverine.' said Patron. 'She never knew.'  
  
 'Oh yeah? Then why was she down here at all?' asked Wolverine. 'An'  
who are you anyway if you know my name?'  
  
 'That would depend who you ask.' explained Patron. 'Dr Ryan thought  
she knew me. I was her salvation. She thought we were harnessing  
Legacy so that we could destroy the mutates and rebuild Genosha. She  
believed this was the first step in the master plan. She was wrong.'  
  
 'What are you talking about?' screamed Ryan. 'This is our cause. This  
is *your* cause. Don't lie to him Patron, tell him the truth. We were  
going to save Genosha from itself. We still can.'  
  
 'No.' said Patron. 'That was never my intention. My only interest was  
in killing the mutates. What becomes of this tragic nation holds no  
interest for me. I'm no patriot. I have no love for your soil. I lied  
to you Doctor. I used you. Now I can tell you the truth, because now  
your usefulness is at an end.'  
  
 'What do you mean?' asked Sasha, crying uncontrollably, struggling to  
break free from Wolverine's grip. 'What are you talking about? You're  
Patron! You're the father of the new Genosha!'  
  
 'No.' said Patron. 'There is no such man.'The cyber-eye dissolved  
away, the tubes that led from his neck plate sank from view, even his  
flowing cape began to split and tear and shred.   
  
 Sasha Ryan sank to her knees as the figure shed his shadows. It was  
not a face she had seen before, but she knew it was not the face of  
the man she thought she had served.   
  
 'Oh my stars and garters.' said Beast as finally arrived with  
Psylocke in tow.  
  
 'Quite.' said Sinister. 'I'm sorry Dr Ryan, you made a mistake. It  
would seem your cause has made you blind. Now I will take my leave of  
this miserable island. Do not expect me to return in any hurry.' He  
began to subside back into the smoke, returning to his shadows.  
Wolverine handed Sasha over to Beast and lunged forward at Sinister,  
hoping to slice him open, but ended up falling through an illusion, a  
figment. Yet there was no doubt he had been there. All over Genosha  
was the evidence of his presence. Sasha Ryan had been betrayed, and  
her glorious nation was paying the price.    
  
 - - - -  
  
 Early evening. Tomorrow morning the X-Men would be gone, back to  
Westchester. They had done all they could do for now, exposed Sasha  
Ryan and helped put her in prison, and hopefully prevented Sinister  
from further spreading Legacy amongst the people. It wasn't over of  
course. They had learned that by now. In Genosha it was never over.  
Still, for them it was time to go home. Alice Yeung no longer had a  
home, not since she'd separated from George and refused to accompany  
him to New Zealand. For a few weeks she had stayed with the X-Men, but  
she wasn't one of them, she had no place saving the world. Instead she  
was going to stay in Genosha and save the people. That was why she had  
agreed to accompany Beast on this trip in the first place, and now she  
felt she had no right to leave. She had headed for Suzie's ward to  
tell her the good news. Suzie hadn't been there. Next Alice headed for  
the quad, where Suzie had talked with Wolverine.  
  
 Suzie was there, and she was crying.  
  
 'Suzie what's wrong?' she asked. 'Are you okay?'  
  
 Suzie's voice was agonizing to hear. It was somewhere between a  
scream and a whisper, strained, strangled, bitter. 'No.' she said. 'It  
hurts. Alice, it hurts.'  
  
 Then Alice noticed the flowerbed. Every rose was black. At first she  
dismissed it as a trick of the night, but no, they were definitely  
black. 'Oh God.' said Alice. 'Come on Suzie, let's get you inside.'  
  
 As Alice began to push the wheelchair back towards the building Suzie  
screamed again. She clutched at her stomach and let out a cry so loud  
it would surely ring out across the bay. Alice picked Suzie up into  
her arms with some difficulty and tried to run for help. She almost  
collided with Dr Craner in the corridor.  
  
 Without a word Craner took her from Alice's arms and placed her on a  
trolley bed. He briefly looked her over and then the lights flared up.  
Every light along the corridor intensified suddenly, virtually  
blinding everyone present.   
  
 'She's freefalling.' said Craner covering his eyes with one arm and  
dragging the trolley with the other. 'We have to get her to the Ground  
Room.'  
  
 Suzie yelled out again. She hadn't heard what Dr Craner had just  
said, but she knew she was dying, and she couldn't help wishing it was  
already over.  
  
 'Burnley!' yelled Craner desperately, trying to steer blind down the  
corridor, 'Get her a morphine dosage IV *stat*. Renault, clear me a passage  
along the corridor.'  
  
 Alice watched in horror as Craner raced on with the poor, dying girl,  
eventually disappearing into that hated room at the end of the long  
corridor.  
  
 Inside, Suzie struggled to control herself. She knew her powers had  
abandoned her, but she wanted to at least keep some order over her  
sanity. She could make out Dr Craner's voice and she could almost see  
him through tear soaked eyes. Then everything dimmed. Not just her  
perceptions, but the whole room. Every object, every person,  
everything within the Ground Room began to turn black. Pitch black.   
  
 'I can't see anything.' said a panicked voice somewhere to the left,  
one of the nurses as she struggled with the code cart. In the darkness  
Dr Craner found his way to the nurse and pulled her to hs side.  
  
 Suzie felt gloved hands on her body, and a moment later heard a  
heart monitor begin to sing it's dirge. She flailed her arms in panic  
and pain as a hand grabbed her arm and inserted an IV drip into the  
hep-lock needle in her vein. 'It's okay Suzie.' said a voice. The warm,   
calm, comforting voice of Dr Craner, the man Suzie was going  
to marry if she had her way. 'You won't feel any more pain.' he   
promised. Sleep began to immerse her mind as the general anaesthetic  
seeped into her body, but for a moment she could feel a hand holding   
her own, stroking it, soothing her more than the morphine ever could.   
She knew it was Dr Craner, and for one brief moment she tried to be   
happy. A second dose of morphine shot into her, and a single tone  
rang out through the room. She was gone.  
  
**********************************************  
Next Issue: Harry's Hideaway.  
**********************************************  
  
  
  



	26. X-Men #51

Marysia: I'm sorry to announce that this will be Chris Delaney's last X-Men issue.  
Although I'm sure you'll see him again on this list, possible with a new  
running series. For the time being I will be taking over the duties of  
writer on X-Men.  
  
**  X-Men Red #51  **  
"St. Valentine's Day"      
Writer: Chris Delaney  
Editor: Marysia   
  
Author's Note: The name change reflects the change in orientation that  
begins this issue (Magneto as a major player).  It also sounds better than  
adjectiveless X-Men.  This takes place on Valentines Day and is after Cable  
#28, Uncanny X-Men #331, X-Man #15 (?) and Darker Side #3.  The people in  
this story are copyrighted to Marvel Comics and so selling this story would  
be a bad idea (consider it bad Karma).  Everything here is for  
entertainment purposes and may be decimated at will so long as it is not  
sold and the credits remain.  
  
Special Thanks to: Marysia- for being patient (and darn clever too)!  
                   Andrew Wheeler- for being helpful (and patient too).  
                   Art Lasher- technical expert par excellence  
     My reviewers: Heather Richards, Becky Teed, Jacob Michaels, and   
Starkalien.  Special mention to everyone who protested the Avengers fight  
(the new Avengers in this issue are dedicated to you).  
  
  
Main [Xavier's Mansion]  
  
     Charles Xavier emptied his whiskey sour with one quick gulp and began  
to prepare another one.  He had been relying on drink a lot lately, it  
dulled the edge of his guilt and made it easier to live with himself.  He  
kept seeing the bodies of the young men as they were loaded aboard the  
SHIELD Helecarrier.  The twisted bodies haunted his dreams and the screams  
of the already dead, who howled in agony as the radiation murdered them,  
echoed in his ears.  A tear ran down his cheek and he slowly drank the  
beverage.  The message he had just been reading lay on the desk before him.   
  
     He recalled bumming around the Mediterranean in his youth.  His love   
affairs with Moira and Gabby.  His friendship with Magnus.  It had been the  
only time in his life when he had ever been happy.  Before that it had been  
hell growing up with an abusive step-father.  Then he had gone to Korea as  
an infantry-man and learned of the horrors of war.  He wondered, at odd  
moments, what his real father had been like.  What he had done and why.   
Was Hazard right and were there dark secrets buried in his family past, or  
were they just the ravings of a madman?  Still, he had been happy as a  
young man, probably the only time in his life when that had been true.  
  
     Afterwards, well afterwards nothing seemed to go right.  He lost his  
legs in a battle with Lucifer and he lost Amelia Voight to his own need to  
control her.  He still felt bad about that.  His X-Men were his pride and  
joy but they had failed to make a real difference in the world, his dream  
of human and mutant harmony was as distant as ever.  Sometimes he felt as  
if there was a sinister conspiracy out there aimed at fostering hate and  
division.  It was hidden just out of sight but might pop out at any moment  
to make his life a living hell.  But that was foolish, there was no   
such thing and thoughts like that were unworthy of him.  He was a man on  
the edge and he knew it.  He was trying to understand half-whispered truths  
and jumping at shadows.  He dropped his glass with a start as an ominous  
shadow appeared over him.  He hadn't meant that thought literally!  
  
     "There was a time when I could never have come up on you by surprise,   
Xavier.  You're slipping and we can't afford this, not now!  Damnit man,  
after I'm gone you have to carry on..." Magneto had appeared dressed in a  
grey suit with an oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face.  He  
leaned heavily on his cane and his skin was shockingly pale.    
  
     "Carry on?  I should be so lucky.  What are you waiting for Magnus?   
For some miracle cure to affect you so you can change your mind and turn  
into the Lord of the Acolytes again.  Create your damned heaven so you can  
destroy my dream..."  Xavier babbled.  
  
     "You're drunk."  
  
     "And you're evil.  Which of us is better off?  In the morning I'll be  
sober but you'll still be a monster."  
  
     Magnus scanned the papers on the desk.  He picked up one that  
interested him in particular and his face went even paler.  "When did this  
happen?"  
  
     "This morning.  Happy Valentine's Day, the love of your life has  
decided the Imperial Line has to be continued and so she is marrying an  
appropriate consort who will be able to provide her with an heir since I  
have refused to do so.  How could I have been so blind Magnus?  Why did I  
ever leave her to return to this hellhole?  Nothing has gone right since I  
returned... nothing..." Xavier blubbered.  
  
     "How many bottles of this poison have you had?" Magneto asked as he   
took the half-full whiskey bottle from Xavier's desk.    
  
     "Two.  Including that one."  
  
     "What are you trying to do?  Drink yourself to death?"  
  
     In a moment of profound honesty, Charles Xavier looked his friend in  
the eye and replied "Yes!".   
  
  
[Four Freedoms Plaza]  POV: Black Widow  
  
     I was about ready to scream.  I had arranged a nice romantic dinner  
with Logan (nothing serious you understand, just friends) and this damned  
emergency had come up instead.  I was pissed off beyond belief.  Logan had  
helped me get through a rough time a while back (and had saved my life as a  
child) and I was looking forward to spending some time with him.  His  
sincere tenderness and gruff common sense were always welcome and made me  
feel better.  But this meeting had come up here and he had gone with the  
X-Men to Genosha and that was life.  
  
     Crystal's child Luna had the Legacy virus (some bioweapon released by  
a madman from the future; don't ask) and Reed Richards had called us all  
together to discuss it.  Nice in theory but in practice it meant all the  
scientist types got to go off and argue about this while I got babysit  
everybody else that had tagged along.  And I stress the word babysit!  
  
     I scanned the assembly around me and once again cringed at the  
potential for mayhem.  Sersi and Thena (two eternals, one new and one old  
member) looked disgusted at us.  Captain America was trying to break up an  
argument between Rage and War Machine over who got to sit nearest the  
window.  Rage claimed it was his turn, War Machine insisted his delicate  
electronics needed cool air.  Both were annoying.  Spiderwoman was playing  
with Rachel (her daughter) and trying to comfort Crystal and succeeding at  
neither.  Century was learning how to play poker with Ben Grimm, Captain  
Marvel, Iron Man and Odin.  Odin seemed to be winning an awful lot but Tony  
was refreshing the pool of chips.  His floozy, some SAS officer, was also  
playing with a great deal of gusto.  Odin's wolves and ravens were   
starting to drive everybody nuts.  It appeared washing pets was an idea  
that never occurred to the Norse and with minimal air circulation...  Susan  
Richards kept coming in to tell us to keep it down.  She, who got to serve  
as gopher and escape slow asphyxiation in this miserable torture chamber,  
telling us to keep quiet!  I wanted to strangle her; slowly!  
    
     Johnny Storm kept letting his eyes wander to inappropriate parts of  
Thena's anatomy as he told her how wonderful _he_ was.  She obviously  
didn't believe him.  Lyja was imitating everybody else and parodying them.   
While she was quite funny some people were not amused.  Psilord managed to  
find some excuse to visit his bedroom and never came back, I guess he  
figured waiting for the news couldn't be worse than being locked in this  
loony bin.  I figured he was right.  Huntara was the third and final member  
of Fantastic Force, she just looked ill.  If she barfed I was going to kill  
her.  Night-thrasher was looking out the single, miserably small window as  
if he wanted to jump.  Wouldn't blame him one bit.  Darkstar, Hyperion   
and Quaser seemed to be searching for an escape route.  Wouldn't blame them  
either.  
  
     Now don't get me wrong, these were all nice people.  It is just that  
they all had egos the size of the Statue of Liberty and they were crammed  
into a small room lacking ventilation for hours at a time as we waited for  
the results.  In circumstances like that people can get tremendously petty.   
The television set had been blown apart by a Widow's sting some hours ago  
when an argument between the Hulk, the Human Torch and War Machine over  
what program to watch had threatened to turn into a brawl.  Then I had to  
convince Thena that turning Johnny into stone was not okay and that yes, I  
understood organic transconfiguration wasn't killing but here on earth it  
was considered rude to turn your friends into stone. She had pointed out   
friends didn't do the sort of things that he did when they were asked not  
to.  I wished I was anywhere else.  
  
     The worst part was those who were conspicuous by their absence.  The   
cool analysis of the Vision.  The biting wit of Hawkeye.  The USAgent who  
tried so hard not to be a jerk and failed so miserably.  The staunch  
loyalty of Hercules and the fierce pride of Thor.  Giant man who should  
have been helping with the virus and Janet who would have given me a  
shoulder to cry on.  Deathcry whom I had never really gotten to know; and  
now I never would.  All were sorely missed (Wanda was not missed by me  
however and I couldn't help wishing she had died with the rest, it was so  
unfair that these brave souls died and she got to survive!).  The worst  
part of the whole frustrating affair was when I thought I heard Hank's   
voice, just for a moment, and turned to reply only to realise I wasn't ever  
going to hear it again.  I got all teary eyed and I needed to be strong.   
To feel nothing.  Otherwise I couldn't go on with this.     
  
     At least the scientist types were gone (into a large, spacious  
air-conditioned lab I might add).  Reed was heading up the team  
investigating the viral infection along with Bruce Banner, Dr. Strange,  
Dane Whitman (lucky bastard was able to argue he counted as a scientist)  
and Peter Corbeau.  They were in contact with a second group on Muir Island  
consisting of  Moira McTaggert and Victor von Doom.  I would almost trade  
putting up with Wanda for this circus.  But then I'd have to put up with  
Doom too and that would just be too much; even for me.  Hank McCoy was   
busy on Genosha with Logan, I got the feeling his presence was sorely  
missed. Xavier was supposed to be turning up at some point but after his  
performance for WHO some of the scientists had a rather dimmed opinion of  
him.  I'm not exactly impressed with him myself after his involvement in  
the destruction of the Savage Land.  
  
  
[Xavier's Mansion]  
  
     Rogue stared off into the distance across the snow covered ground,  
glad to finally have a break from Asteroid M.  It was oppressive up there  
in the extreme.  Cable had vanished in the final stages of the Legacy virus  
and not been heard of since.  Rachel was moping about the revelation that  
her Dad was Wolverine and worrying about her mother who still lay in a  
comatose state, she had been unable to find any signs of mental activity.   
Cyclops was trying to get to know his adult "daughter" and making a bad  
situation worse.  Magneto was half delusional and moving towards stark,  
raving mad.  The final stages of the virus weren't pretty and he was only  
making it worse by trying to pretend he wasn't ill at all.  Like attacking   
Apocalypse without help.  That was simply stupid.  What if Apocalypse had  
fought back instead of running?  He'd be dead and they would be digging one  
more unnecessary grave!  Rogue suddenly started as her train of thought was  
interrupted.  
  
     "Bonjour, Chere." Gambit said as he walked into the room.    
  
     "What're you doin' here Gambit?  Scared ta fight along side the X-Men?"  
  
     "Now Chere, dat ain't very nice.  Gambit stayed here t' look after de   
Professor,"  Gambit lied.  In truth, after his behaviour with Sabretooth  
and his general attitude lately, the team had decided to leave him behind.  
  
     "Go away, Gambit."  Rogue replied.  
  
     "Now why would I do dat with you all sad and lonely up dere in space.   
Just the two of us, you and me.  Magic, Chere, it could be magic."  
  
     "Ah'm not sad and ah'm not lonely and ah want ta be left alone.  Ah  
have had enough of your lies and games, Gambit, ta last this girl a  
lifetime.  Ah guess ah just find it awful hard ta believe in you after all  
that's happened.  All that ya won't tell me.  Ah don't want ta be anyone's  
doormat, not even yours."  
  
     "Give me one last chance, Chere, to prove dat I still care.  Dat we  
can still make it work.  I love you, Rogue, an' I don't want t' lose you."   
Gambit slowly unleashed his charm power.  He had avoided using it like the  
plague but had been forced to in his first encounter with Storm thanks to  
the presence of the Shadow King.  Of all the lousy luck... Still, by  
refraining from using it ever since, he had managed to have everybody  
forget about it.  He almost wished it hadn't worked, he didn't want to  
succeed in what he was about to do.  
  
     "Well..."  
  
     "I know dis great little hideaway where it will be just you an' me  
t'gether.  We can try it for a few days an' if it doesn't work Gambit won't  
ever bother you again.  Just give me one last chance to prove how much I  
care 'bout you."  
  
     "Okay, Remy, one last chance."  Rogue smiled at him.  This could be  
fun.  "So where were ya thinkin' of taking me.  Ah'm a lady and ah expect  
ta be treated as such."  
  
     "Don' worry, Chere, don' worry at all...."  Gambit grinned like a  
wolf, but if Rogue had looked close enough she'd have seen the pain in his  
eyes.  
   
  
[Glasgow, Scotland]  
  
     "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Scott Summers asked as they strode  
into the Hospital.  Beside him was a blonde woman with a tattooed face and  
a determined look in her eyes. "I know that your embarrassed at what  
happened with Rogue but you don't have to avoid her.  I'm sure she  
understands."  
  
     "I didn't ask you to come," Marie retorted in an icy voice, "and what   
happened between Rogue and I is none of your business, thank you very  
much."  
  
     "I didn't mean it that way."  
  
     "Can we please find some other topic besides my personal life."  
  
     "Stop being so defensive."  
  
     "I'm not being defensive.  I'm granting you a great deal of latitude  
because you are still recovering from the death of your wife.  However,  
there are limits and you are getting awful close to them.  I still don't  
understand why Magneto even let you join this group let alone lead it.  It  
makes no sense to me at all!"    
  
     Scott fell silent as Scanner walked up to the information desk.  The  
nurse beyond the counter, a matronly woman of about fifty, looked in  
evident disapproval at her facial tattoos and Scott's eccentric glasses.   
Back in her day young men and women knew how to dress properly.  "Can I  
help you young lady?" she asked with a scowl on her face.  Low-life trash.  
  
     "Watson.  John Watson please."   
  
     "Relation?"  
  
     "He is my father."  
  
     "He is in room 6026.  Just go past the yellow pillars and take the  
stairs."  Poor man, seeing his daughter in this state would probably push  
him over the edge.  They needed Thatcher back, she would put the country to  
rights!  The nurse sighed and went back to filling out forms.    
  
  
[Xavier's Mansion]  
  
     "Where is Rogue?" Magneto asked Rachel.  "She was supposed to meet us   
here an hour ago!  First I have to deal with this drunkard and now she is  
acting up."  Sobering up Xavier hadn't helped his mood any, not that it had  
much room left to deteriorate.  His grand-daughter was dying and it was  
galling him to be so helpless about the whole thing.    
  
     "She left a message with me for you, she's gone with Gambit to try and  
sort out their problems or something. She'll be back in a few days,"   
Rachel told him.  
  
     "Damn the girl!  Well, I have waited long enough.  I have Xavier  
loaded into the modified minivan and I am not going through that again!"  
Magneto hobbled from the room, the strength of his voiced belied by the  
weakness of his body.    
  
     *It would have been a lot easier if you had followed the instructions  
before using your magnetic power to modify the van.* Xavier quipped using  
his telepathy.    
       
     "It's not my fault that your students can't set up a handicapped van   
properly..."  Magneto grumbled.  
  
     *They set it up properly, you just took the wrong one.*  
  
     "Then explain to me why this one was in the handicapped parking spot  
and the other one was missing..." Magneto shot back as he continued to  
hobbled towards the parked van.    
  
    *You're pushing it too hard, Magneto,* Rachel thought to herself, *not  
even you can keep up this pace indefinitely.  After reopening the wounds  
Dad inflicted on you fighting Apocalypse, you are in no condition to be  
walking, let alone doing this.  Push this hard and you won't have anything  
left when it really counts... and we need you more than ever now that  
Cable's gone.*  
  
     Somewhere far away, the sorceress Roma smiled at the irony of Rachel's  
thoughts.  
  
  
[Glasgow, Scotland]  
  
     Scanner walked into the sterile, white room and stared at the man in  
the bed.  A network of tubes and machines were focused on enabling this  
middle aged man to survive.  The smell was rank with everything reeking of  
rotting flesh.  The man himself was criss-crossed with pockets of infection  
and dead flesh.  His breath rattled as he forced air through fluid-filled  
lungs.  
  
     "What's wrong with him?" Scott asked as he walked in behind Scanner.    
  
     "Cancer." she replied.  
  
     The man on the bed began to gasp and claw at the bed sheets with his   
remaining hand.  A tear rolled out of one of his eyes as he saw his  
daughter standing before him.    
  
     "Leave us alone."  
  
     "But..."  
  
     "Do it god-damn you!  Do it!"  Scanner sat next to the bed and began  
to cry as she watched her father in his torment.  Scott stood there for a  
few minutes feeling awkward and then walked out to get a cup of coffee.    
  
  
<[New York City]  
  
     Magneto wheeled Charles Xavier out in front of the synagogue steps and  
then sat down.  This had been the only pay-phone they could find in the  
area and it was good to get out of the car after the trial of New York  
traffic.  It didn't help that none of them were good drivers or that none  
of them held currently valid drivers licences.  Charles couldn't use his  
legs and both Rachel and Magnus tended to fly places.  Charles mopped his  
brow and sighed heavily.  He wanted a drink quite badly.    
  
     "Hello there.  Do you need some help getting into the synagogue?" a  
young man asked, noting Charles in a wheelchair and Magnus leaning heavily  
on a cane.  He was a short man who seemed even shorter as he approached  
Magnus (who stood a good ten inches above him).  He had tan skin and black  
hair and seemed quite friendly.  
  
     "No." Magneto replied curtly.  
  
     "Forgive my friend, he lacks a little in the social graces department.   
My name is Charles Xavier.  You are?" Xavier said extending his hand.  
  
     "Jacob Michaels.  I was just here touring Four Freedoms Plaza;  
fantastic place.  Hey, you aren't the expert on mutant affairs are you?   
The one who is always debating Graydon Creed?"  
  
     "Yes I am.  Glad to know somebody is watching."  
  
     "I am just glad to see that sort of anti-Semitic bastard being  
properly debated.  You know he endorsed Bucannon's idea that the Jews might  
be causing mutants?  Sick!"  
  
     "If you are worried about that sort of thing why are you wearing the  
Star of David?" Magneto asked.    
  
     "Because I'm Jewish and proud of it."  
  
     "I have heard this rhetoric before.  How long till that becomes a way  
to identify you when they come to take you away?  If you would be a safe  
Jew then either go to Israel and fight for your freedom or hide in the  
shadows.  So long as you are different they will fear you; and humans hate  
what they fear."  
  
     "You are a strange one.  This is the USA!  What makes you think that   
anything like that could ever happen here?"  
  
     Magneto ripped the sleeve of his suit to reveal a tattoo.  "I thought  
the same thing about Germany once."  Jacob blinked in confusion, this man  
couldn't be more than thirty!  
  
     "And I know it will happen!" a stunning and tastefully dressed redhead  
interjected.  "Although you are lucky, it won't be the Jews and the gypsies  
they are coming for this time.  I spoke to Richards, Magnus, and we can go  
on in.  He says he has no objections so long as you promise to behave."  
  
     Jacob looked closely at Magneto and went pale.  "You're Magneto aren't  
you?  The famous mutant terrorist?  That's why you are so young..."  
  
     "Heed my warning, young man.  Today the world looks calm and             
pleasant with no sign of strife.  But do not relax your vigilance or else  
you might wake one day to find the world a very different place indeed."  
  
     "My friend is too pessimistic." Xavier added.  
  
     "No, it is you who are too naive!"  
  
     "Alright boys.  That is enough.  It was nice meeting you, Jacob, but  
we really have to go."  Jacob watched in surprise as the three figures rose  
into the air and flew towards Four Freedoms Plaza.  He started shaking his  
head in disbelief and then stopped.  "How in blazes did she know my name"  
he wondered aloud.  Then he shrugged and started walking.  He would have an  
interesting anecdote to tell, that was for certain.  Whether anyone would  
believe him, that was another matter.    
   
  
[Niagara Falls, New York]  
  
     Gambit led the way up the stairs dragging a heavy bag of luggage  
behind.  Rogue was carrying two such bags and didn't even seem to notice  
the weight.  He thought about Rogue and couldn't help feeling like Judas;  
the dinner he had just fed her being the last supper.  
  
     "Come on, Remy!  Ah wanna see the surprise ya got waitin'!"  
  
     *No you don't!* he thought and then choked the thought off.  He felt  
guilt curdle in his gut and slowly changed his mind.  This wasn't worth it  
and he wouldn't do it.  Perhaps he had softened but it was just this sort  
of thing that had made him leave his old life and join the X-Men.  He  
started to cry out when an arm slipped around his neck and he felt himself  
being pulled back against a cold body.  
  
     "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Gambit.  Not if you want me to  
leave your dear sister in the state she has become accustomed to."  
  
     Gambit fell silent, biting back a curse, unsure of himself long enough  
for it to be too late.  
  
     "Hello, Rogue, it is good to see you again,"  came a voice as cold as  
death, issued from the throat of one of the greatest geneticists ever to  
blight the face of this planet.    
  
     "Sinister!  What in blazes..."   Suddenly there were people all around  
her. Blockbuster.  Riptide.  Vertigo.  As she dropped the suitcases she  
suddenly became dizzy, unprepared she was easily overcome.    
  
     "Congratulations Gambit, you have repaid my faith in you fully.  Now  
it is time to go ahead with the greater plan."  Sinister said smugly.  
  
     "Gambit, you slimeball, how could ya do this?  Ah'm gonna kill ya when  
ah get mah hands on your hide!"  
  
     "That will be enough of that," Sinister ordered as the sedative  
Riptide had injected took effect and Rogue crumpled.  "I have business  
elsewhere at the present time (see UXM #331-2, LA) and Rogue will have to  
wait.  You have your orders, now carry them out."  
  
     "Right boss!  This Comcast character is as good as dead and this lil'  
hussy will wish she were."  Vertigo replied.  Sinister vanished as he  
activated a device on his belt and the others quickly followed.  
  
      Gambit stood there quietly smoking a cigarette until the echo of her  
last frantic scream had faded.  Then he got up and left to return to the  
X-Men.  To his friends.      
  
  
[Glasgow, Scotland]  
  
     Scanner knelt beside the rotting man who was her father, dying of a  
disease that had been inflicted on him by years of careless living.  *I  
came back, Da, I couldn't stay away.*  
  
     *Been better if you did girl.  You're the only family I have left an'  
I'd rather not lose ye like I did the others...*  Images rose in Scanners  
mind of the night her family was massacred and how she had lain there for  
hours afterwards replaying each death over and over again in her mind.   
*I'm sorry lass.  I thought by leaving Ireland and returning to my native  
soil I could avoid the consequences of my actions.  But enough of that.   
What has happened to you lately?*  
  
     *I was a member of the Acolytes for a while.  The group of heroes   
gathered together by Magneto.  But Xavier mind-fried him and we were left  
under the control of a lunatic by the name of Exodus.  Another lunatic came  
and destroyed our home and now I am here.  There is other stuff but it  
isn't all that important.*  
  
     *That young man belong to you?*  
  
     *Scott?  No, he's a member of my team that's all.*  
  
     *I gotta favour to ask you girl.*  
  
     *What is it Da?*      
  
     *I want you to finish putting something to rights for me as I can no  
longer do it myself.  I want you to kill me.*  
  
     *KILL YOU!  Are you crazy?*  
  
     *No, the pain is worse every day and the disease is incurable.  Let me  
die, luv, I don't want to keep suffering this way!*  Scanner could feel his  
suffering through the psionic rapport she had established.    
  
     *I don't want to...*  
  
     *Do it, girl.  But first, let me tell you about something that  
happened when you were younger...*  
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
     Scanner walked out of the room and into the hallway as the life  
support equipment blared.  *We are going now.* she projected to Scott.  
  
     "What are you talking about, isn't that your Dad's room?"  
  
     *Yes.*  
  
     "But he's dying!"  
  
     *Yes.  I did it.  Now let's go.*  
  
     "You killed him!  How dare you do something like that..."  
  
     *Cut out the righteous act or I'll KO you with a psi-blast and leave  
you for the police.  They'll remember you came in with me...*  
  
     Scott fumed for a moment and followed Scanner out of the hospital and   
right into an ambush.  Only his quick reflexes and extensive combat  
experience prevented them both from being chopped in half by a machine-gun.  
  
  
[Research Lab, Four Freedoms Plaza]  
  
     "... so as far as I can tell the mutation caused by the terrigen mists  
have only exacerbated the problem by stressing and weakening her defences."   
Reed Richards commented.  
  
     "It is better than it would have been without any intervention on the  
part of Quicksilver.  If nothing else, seeing how the viroid reacts to the  
multi-level attack may provide clues to a cure."  Doom commented from the  
view screen.  
  
     "That is cold!"  Banner interjected.  
  
     "Just because you don't have the vision to see what must be done..."   
Doom began.  
  
     "Uh, guys.  What is her inhuman power anyway?" Dane asked.    
  
     Reed explained by pointing to the window, the geranium on the window   
sill was rapidly taking over a set of shelves and blossoming profusely.   
"Not really very helpful.  We'll also have to keep an eye out for a second  
power appearing courtesy of Legacy III, isn't that right Dr McTaggart?"  
  
     "Aye," agreed Moira with a pained look on her face as she rubbed her   
hands absently.  
  
     "But if we can keep that from happening then she will be alright?"   
Dane asked hopefully.  
  
     "I dinna think we can prevent it.  The viroid is too widespread and  
the degree of response from her immune system and natural DNA repair  
system, while fighting the viroid, is not enough to eradicate it.  Anything  
we can do will only prolong her suffering I'm afraid,"  Moira said with  
sorrow dripping from her voice.  
  
     "I am trying to determine if a mystical type of intervention is  
possible but I have not had encouraging results.   The girl is confused and  
fighting me and in horrible pain."  Dr. Strange explained.    
  
     "Bah, stop mourning for the already dead.  We need to seize this   
opportunity to find a weakness in the viroid which we can exploit..."  As  
Doom droned on and began to develop a battery of tests to do on the girl,   
Reed Richards wondered how he could ever have been friends with a man so  
callous and insensitive.  How could Doom not care that the girl was dying  
and they could do nothing!  Like most of the world he misjudged Doom  
because Doom thought far larger thoughts.  Richards could only see a girl  
dying while Doom saw a planet dying.  To him, the girl was one possible key  
to an elusive cure.  As for Luna, she cared nothing for possible cures and  
hopeful treatments.  She merely continued screaming.     
  
     Rachel entered the lab bearing two of the greatest mutants on the  
planet.  While Xavier was at least accepted by most Magneto was pointedly  
ignored.  He walked over to Luna and placed his hands on the shoulders of  
the weeping Crystal (she had forced her way in earlier).  He just stood  
there and stared at the terrific amount of damage the Legacy had already  
done to his grand-daughter.  Then, slowly, he added his tears to hers.  
  



	27. X-Men #52

Published: Tue May 07 08:03:50 1996  
  
X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction organisation using characters  
copyright to Marvel Entertainments. We do not have their permission to  
use these characters.  
  
                   -----------------------------  
                             X-Men #52  
                          "Breaking Away"  
                       Writer: Marysia  
                   -----------------------------  
                            
[Edinburgh, Scotland. 14th Feb.]  
              
   Scott Summers and Marie Watson dived for cover as machine guns  
ripped apart the wall behind them. By the time they sat up the hitmen  
were gone in a screech of rubber.  
  
   "What the hell? I thought this sort of thing didn't happen in  
Britain?" said Cyclops.  
  
   "It doesn't," answered Marie grimly. "Unless you get on the wrong  
side of organised crime. My family were killed because my father  
turned in the wrong person to the police. They say they're fighting  
for freedom and some of them mean it, but too many of them use it as a  
cover for gun and drug dealing. Bastards the lot of them. Let's get  
going."  
  
   "We can't just leave and let them get away with that!"  
  
   "Your thinking like a super-hero, now think like someone with a  
brain and get real. They're gone, we're alive, my family are long  
dead. Chasing after them isn't going to get anyone anywhere. Now can  
we please leave?"  
  
   "Fine. Let's go. We've got things to do anyway."  
  
\------  
[Asteroid M. 17th Feb, morning.]  
  
   Rachel lurked in the communications suite, establishing a few  
untraceable links to Earth systems in case anyone wanted to contact  
them. Not that it wasn't fairly easy to guess who it was floating  
about in earth orbit in a not-dreadfully-well cloaked asteroid anyway.  
Magneto no longer had the power to toss the space station across  
orbits like a tennis ball, the effort could only worsen his Legacy  
infection and although Rachel probably could have done it she didn't  
trust her knowledge of physics that much. So it would be a more or  
less normal space station for a change. If a very well designed one,  
recycling air and water to such an extent that restocking would only  
be needed once in a blue moon... she paused in her thoughts, bad  
choice of term there. After everything Jean Grey had been through it  
was almost a joke that she was once more on the brink of death. But it  
was not a joke to Rachel, or to her husband Scott Summers or to the  
father of her unborn child, Magneto (Jean got pregnant while she and   
Mags were under the Shadow King's influence). Another half-sister or   
brother for Rachel to fit into the ever changing family tree. She   
called up a blank screen on the computer and began to set out what   
ran through her mind....  
                                 
                    |---------------------------|  
Scott Summers --- Jean Grey --- Wolverine  |  Magneto --- ?  
               |             |             |           |  
     Nathan Christopher    Rachel          ?    Quicksilver and         
                                                 Scarlet Witch  
  
   She thought about adding more but the damn thing wouldn't fit on  
the screen and besides she was getting bored already. It amused her  
vaguely that the Jean Grey and Scott Summers of this time-line had  
never actually managed to have any children together. And her  
ex-father, Scott Summers, had been cuckolded twice and got the wrong  
Jean the other time. She supposed she shouldn't really find it funny  
but really, how could you take it seriously. Besides, her kind-of-  
mother was lying in a coma a few floors down and her half-brother  
Cable was dead of Legacy Virus. If she didn't laugh she would start to  
cry. But there was an easy way to fix that.  
  
   With a faint cry of pleasure she opened her mind to the Phoenix  
Force and let it flood through her synapses, washing away memory in  
its fiery tide. She sprang from her seat and flew through the  
molecules of the window into outer space.  
  
   As she left the comm panel began to beep insistently.  
  
\------  
  
   Jean Greys body breathed; blood pumped; muscles twitched; hormones  
flowed. No life support was needed, only constant monitoring. But her  
brain, as far as anyone could tell, was burnt out. There was nobody  
there. Nobody but the new life that was forming within her. Only a  
month old, but if you could have seen inside you would be able to make  
out all the basics; eyes, mouth, arms, legs; it is amazing just how  
much of a human is formed in the first fleeting moments of life. The  
most important days when life is so sensitive to every change in its  
environment.  
  
   Eric Magnus Lensherr worried. They had not known of Jean Greys  
pregnancy until several days after they had come to Asteroid M and  
this child, his child, had come to mean so much to him. Seemingly his  
last chance to create something unspoiled for his past history was  
littered with mistakes. Anya's death, Magda's fear, his treatment of  
Wanda and Pietro and now... the final blow. His grand-daughter was  
dying and it was at least partly his fault. Pietro's decision to take  
her through the Terrigen Mists had been based on his words earlier  
that day. Not understanding the differences between the different  
strains of Legacy and Pietro ready to grasp, understandably, at any  
straw offered. Even such a ludicrous one as his suggestion that were  
she a mutant, or an inhuman, she would be better able to fight the  
infection. Now it was quite possible she might go to her grave before  
him, though he at least would not be far behind. If only she had the  
tenacity of that damned McTaggart woman who had clung on for months  
now without showing half the signs of illness that others had  
displayed. After all the destruction she had caused in the past she  
didn't deserve the extra time she was being granted. But then she had  
lost children too, just as he had. They should stick together; him,  
Charles, Moira, Gabrielle; remnants of an age long past.   
  
   For the first time in his life, despite being 65, he felt old. Old  
as time. So much had happened since he was a boy. So many amazing,  
terrifying, awe inspiring things. But in the end there was nothing  
new, just death. From the dawn of man it had always ended there. He  
was being maudlin, he knew it. He cursed himself for wallowing in his  
sorrow as he had only yesterday chastised Xavier for doing.   
  
   [New life,] he told himself. [Always new life.] He reached over and  
laid his hand on Jean Greys' stomach.  
  
   He hear a loud cough at the door and turned to see Scott Summers  
standing there. Veiled anger in his eyes. "We got the supplies you needed,  
but I thought you might want to know that _your_ follower, Scanner, pulled  
the life support on her father. The authorities will probably be looking  
for her. Oh, and she's wanted by some bunch of terrorists too." He turned  
to go.  
  
   "Scott!"  
  
   He turned back. His expression was reminiscent of a teenager  
waiting for the same lecture he's heard and ignored a thousand times  
before.  
  
   Magneto decided to pry, he had no time to wait for things to be  
revealed any more. He had to do things now. "Why are you here? I mean  
it is obvious to me that Xavier sent you here to spy on me, but why  
did you accept? You and I have never been anything but enemies, you  
were not one of the X-Men when I was their teacher. It is clear that  
you despise me for my past and present actions," he glanced at Jean.  
"Whether they were under my control or not. So I ask you, why are you  
here?"  
  
   "My wife is here! Where else would I be?"  
  
   "Come now. You know as well as I that had you requested I would  
have returned her body to Earth. To tell the truth I am considering  
doing just that, what can we give her here? We have the facilities to  
support her but none of us are doctors, she would be better off under  
the care of someone like Dr McCoy. But back once more to my question  
that you cannot answer. What are you looking for? The opportunity to  
stab me in the back when I am looking the other way?"  
  
   "If I ever kill you, Magneto, it will be staring straight into your  
eyes," Cyclops answered coldly. "I have plenty of reasons for being  
here, not the least of which is my daughter Rachel."  
  
   "I'm sure that's what you think. But do you know what I think?"  
  
   "I don't really care what you think, Magneto."  
  
   Magnus smiled at that. "I think you have had enough of Charles  
Xavier. I think you have had enough of being kicked in the teeth by  
'The Dream'. I think that you are here for the same reasons Pyotr  
Rasputin, Sally Blevins and Rusty Collins joined me on Avalon, because  
sometimes you've just had enough."  
  
   "Then you're a fool. Charles Xavier is ten times the man you will  
ever be. He's created more good in the past ten years than you could  
ever destroy."  
  
   "It amuses me to hear you defend him so. When only one month ago he  
would have allowed you to die in a nuclear holocaust."  
  
   "He did what had to be done, you lead him to it, you forced his  
hand."  
  
   "Ah yes, I, the dread villain. The unwilling puppet of the Shadow  
King without whose assistance none of you would have survived. Or do  
you forget who it was that shielded you from the blast at the risk of  
his own life?" Magneto was shouting now. "You are a petty little man,  
Scott Summers! So easily led and so quick to follow. I would be amazed  
if you had even one thought of your own in your well moulded little  
brain. Deep down you despise Charles for being weak willed, for not  
being what he always claimed to be, but you will never accept that  
because you are and always have been Xaviers little soldier. Loyal as  
the day is long and obedient as a puppy dog. Get out of my sight! You  
sicken me." He turned away from Cyclops. "Stay here if you want to but  
leave me alone. I do not wish to hear your poison in my last few days  
on Earth." He stood up and walked over to Scott. "Take Jean back to  
Xavier where she can be properly cared for and return if you will." He  
left the room.  
  
\------  
  
   Scott piloted the shuttle down to land in the hanger. Behind him  
Scanner, an unwilling guest on this trip, monitored Jean Grey.  
Professor Xavier was waiting with a familiar figure, that of Alex  
Summers. Behind them stood a woman in white, a nurse by the looks of  
things. Scott powered down the shuttle and went out to greet them.  
  
   "Alex! What are you doing here?"  
  
   "I came to see you, but everyone's gone. I tried to reach you at the  
Asteroid but there was no answer. I've... left X-Factor I guess."  
  
   "Left? Why? I mean what about Lorna?"  
  
   Alex looked upset, "That's one of the other reasons I came here.  
She doesn't want to see me anymore. To tell the truth I didn't really know  
where else to go."   
  
   "But why would she do that?"  
  
   "Well... I've kinda been out of it for a while. I was a prisoner of  
someone, but I don't know who... Random was working for them. Then I  
escaped and I guess she thought I was avoiding her or something since they  
didn't know where I was. I kind of got the feeling she was upset about  
something else though. I thought I'd let her work through it before I  
started trying to explain things."  
  
   "Prisoner? When? Why weren't we told you were missing?"  
  
   "I don't know, I'm not sure they even realised I was. Probably  
thought I was just taking an extended break. Lorna must have been pretty  
mad at me for not calling her. But that's quite enough about that. What  
about you? Are you alright? Is Jean really..."  
  
   Scott nodded, "Jean is in a coma. I... don't know what else to say." He  
turned his head and shouted back, "Scanner! Can you bring Jean down?"  
  
   "Sure." Scanner steered the antigrav stretcher down the ramp and  
over to the group. The nurse came forward and took over from her.  
  
   "I brought the nurse in while the X-Men are on their mission in  
Genosha," said Xavier. "Anyway, it will be good for Jean to have such  
round the clock care."  
  
   Scott nodded. He wondered if he should stay, no, he knew he should  
stay. But he wasn't going to. He didn't want to stay here. Just being  
here left a bad taste in his mouth. Besides, he knew Jean was dead.  
Large areas of her brain were burnt out as if by a laser, the power of  
the Phoenix had proved too much this time. He knew the others were so  
used to Jean returning time and time again from seeming death that  
they half-expected another miracle cure. He did not. There were some  
things that were just not meant to be. He had thought that they were  
meant to be together and that was why she always came back. But now he  
realised that they had never been meant, that was why so many things  
kept coming between them. He had nothing to stay here for. Nothing.  
  
   *Nothing?* inquired Xavier. *This is your home, Scott. I sent you  
with Magneto because I had to know what he planned. We will never be  
safe so long as he is still alive.*  
  
   Refusing to keep the conversation private, Scott answered aloud.  
"We have nothing to fear from Magneto. We never have had. We have  
wasted resources hunting him like an animal when we should have been  
concentrating on creatures like the Shadow King. Those few who are  
truly evil. Magneto is just a man, and if you are still trying to  
persecute him for having different ideas from you then you are no  
better than the people that made him so bitter in the first place."  
  
   "Scott!"  
  
   "Goodbye Professor."  
  
   *No!* Scott was caught immobile by a powerful telepathic order.  
"You will not leave here. Tell me what Magnus is plotting. Tell me  
what he has said to you to make you say such things. You are like a  
son to me, Scott. I will not have you speak like that."  
  
   "Magneto is plotting nothing and has said nothing that I did not  
already think in my heart. Your time has passed Professor. You created  
a wonderful thing when you create the X-Men, but it is over. The world  
has changed and you cannot seem to move with it. Magneto is no longer  
our enemy, he has not been for at least the past three years. Let it  
go! We have better things to worry about. Jean is dead. It's past time  
I found a life of my own."  
  
   He turned and began to walk back to the shuttlecraft when a voice  
stopped him.  
  
   "Um... Scott?"  
  
   He turned back, "Yes Alex?"  
  
   "Could I... come too? I mean I don't have anywhere else to go  
and..."  
  
   "I don't see why not. Let's go."  
  
   The two brothers climbed aboard the shuttle and left behind Charles  
Xavier. Once their mentor, now just an old man with a broken dream.  
  
\------  
  
   Magneto watched them return with a new member. Yet another Summers  
refugee. It was getting to be quite the family reunion around here. He  
wondered where Cable was, with his resources there was surely  
somewhere he had gone where they could stabilise, at least, his Legacy  
infection. And Scott had returned, as he had expected. He had to admit  
there was some small sense of achievement at having ripped Scott  
Summers from Xaviers grasp. But he felt sorry for Charles. Gone were  
the days of concrete black and white for the X-Men, if they had ever  
really existed in truth. Charles dream had always been one of  
absolutes, he was good and he was bad and everything will work out in  
the end. Destined to end this way really, in ashes. The ashes of one  
mans dream when everyone around him woke up to reality.  
  



	28. X-Men #53

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction organisation using characters  
copyright to Marvel Entertainments. We do not have their permission to  
use these characters.  
  
                   ---------------------------------------------  
                                  X-Men #53  
                             "Burning Futures"  
                       Writer: Andrew Wheeler  
                   ---------------------------------------------  
  
 'Wake up.' she whispered. 'Wake up Lord Magnus.' He strirred and slowly   
opened his eyes. Awake to the daily pain and suffering of the Legacy Virus.  
Today, though, looked as if it may be a little different. A young girl was  
standing by his bedside with a hand pressed to her forehead.   
  
 'Lord Magnus, you must help.' she insisted. She was an olive skinned girl  
with dark hazel hair and green eyes, but this was little distraction for the  
fact that she appeared to be naked.  
  
 'What are you doing here? Who are you?' asked Magneto as tried to  
sit up. He began to cough from the affliction of the virus.   
  
 'Oh. You are dying. It is as the records said.' claimed the girl mournfully.  
'Then you cannot help me. All is lost.'   
  
 'What records?' asked Magneto. 'Enough confusion girl, answer my  
questions. Who are you, what brings you here, how did you find me?'  
  
 'My name is Arena, I was sent from the future by the Agency to stop  
my past, your future, from happening.' she explained. 'Can you help me?'  
  
 'Oh dear God.' sighed Magneto.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 They gathered in Asteroid M's central gathering hall, a place that  
dwarfed the small team of X-Men it housed. There was Scanner, a  
novice psi and devout follower of Magneto; Cyclops, team leader   
and disillusioned student of Xavier; Havok, his brother, a powerful  
man whose greatest weakness was his lack of focus; and Phoenix,  
a young woman who had once been sent from the future to stop her own  
past from happening. Magneto sat at the head of the table in a flowing  
purple robe. Arena wore a similar robe to cover her nakedness, and  
stood by his side.  
  
 'I can't believe it.' said Rachel, holding her head in her hands. 'Not  
again. This can't be happening again.'  
  
 'I know you came from the future also Miss Summers, but that future has   
changed.' claimed Arena. 'And yet it is much the same.'  
  
 'And Bishop?' asked Cyclops. 'And Cable? Where do you fit in amongst  
all of this?'  
  
 'I know nothing of these men. I come from a mere sixty years hence.'   
claimed Arena. 'It is a time of great violence and strife...'  
  
 'Stryfe?' asked Cyclops quickly.  
  
 'With an 'i'.' replied Arena. 'The Friends of Humanity dominate   
the world, we are all crushed beneath the heel of one evil man  
who would want us all dead. Only a few of us who would resist   
him have survived. We call ourselves the Agency.'  
  
 'It never ends.' muttered Rachel.  
  
 'I'm sorry, are we believing all o' this crap?' piped up a voice. Marie   
Watson, Scanner, rougly the same age as Arena and not terribly convinced  
by her. 'I mean, what are ye all? Mad? She's havin' ye on.'   
  
 'Perhaps.' agreed Magneto. 'But Rachel is from a future where   
humanity ruled over mutantkind. Bishop is from a future where  
humans and mutants live in a fragile balance. Cable was raised  
in world of mutant supremacy. Arena's story cannot be dismissed  
as easily as we might like.'  
  
 'Yes and that's all very well.' said Scanner, 'But  Rachel said  
the timestream was no more, Apocalypse an' Legion were supposed   
to've put a stop to all the messing about an that. How did *she*   
get here?'  
  
 'The mystics sent me.' claimed Arena. 'The Sorceror Supreme,  
Katherine Rasputin III, and her cabal.'  
  
 'Good grief.' muttered Scanner.  
  
 'We can at least hear her out Marie.' insisted Cyclops. 'We cannot  
ignore her.'  
  
 'Aye we can.' claimed Scanner.  
  
 'No,' argued Arena. 'Not if you are to live. For you were the first to  
die, Marie Watson. It is recorded in the annals of Tabitha Guthrie.'  
  
 'Boomer kept annals?' puzzled Cyclops. 'You mean she has a diary?'  
  
 'Her chronicle.' claimed Arena. 'When she became first lady of the  
United States after the fall of the Sentinels. We found them in  
the basement of the Hellfire Club, where her firstborn had been  
Black Queen.'  
  
 'This is all too wierd.' claimed Havok. 'Are you sure you've got  
this right?'  
  
 'Yes.' claimed Arena. 'I studied the texts long and hard before  
Lady Rasputin sent me here. Marie was targeted by the Friends  
of Humanity when she murdered her own father. You ran, and   
your fugitive story became the inspiration for many young mutants,  
and a rallying cry for those who would see our kind destroyed.   
When the time of your execution came, a mob of mutants rose up  
in the streets and the riot was quashed with the use of Sentinels.  
That was the beginning.'  
  
 'Oh dear God.' gasped Marie. 'This can't be true.' she insisted,  
rising to her feet. 'Ye're making this up, they're not going to kill  
me, they can't. Magneto won't let them.' She began to cry and  
ran from the room.  
  
 'I don't understand.' said Havok. 'Where does this "one man"  
come into it? Do you mean Creed?'  
  
 'No.' said Arena. 'A younger man. A man of such charisma and  
majesty that even when still young he could rouse the people  
to fight, to kill our kind. He is the one that instituted the first  
death camps. He is the one you must kill.'  
  
 'Kill?' asked Cyclops. 'You can't expect us to kill a man  
on your word.'  
  
 'Can't I?'  asked Arena. 'Then you sell the world too  
cheaply. What matter is your honour when the world is at stake?'  
  
 - - - -   
  
Later that morning:  
   
 Scanner drifted through the wall in her projected form into  
the kitchen of Ian Graham's family, where Ian was enjoying  
breakfast and his father was complaining about the morning  
news. They couldn't see her there.  
  
 'Mutants.' his father muttered. 'Always goddamn mutants,  
every day it's mutants. I'm sick of 'em. Something ought to  
be done.'   
  
 'Drink your coffee you're going to be late.' claimed Paula  
Graham as she marched into the kitchen carrying a  
rug over one arm, which she had just shaken outside  
to get rid of the dust and crumbs. 'And don't talk about  
those people over the breakfast table, you'll upset Graham.'  
  
 'Mum!' whined Graham.   
  
 'Whaaat?' she snapped. 'I'm just thinking of you sweetheart.  
That girl broke your heart. Imagine her being a mutant and  
never telling you. Shameful behaviour. They should all be  
tagged or something, I tell you they're not safe.'  
  
 'I'm going to watch TV.' decided Ian, leaving his toast half  
finished. Scanner realised she hadn't eaten yet this morning,  
and wished she could take it. The plate swished through her  
body as Paula took it to the bin and threw the scraps out.  
  
 'I'm going to be late for work.' said Martin Graham.  
  
 'Is what I was telling you already.' added Paula. 'Go on, get  
out. Saturday morning I do the kitchen, I don't need you here  
under my feet all morning. Go on.'  
  
 Martin muttered something and headed for the hallway.  
  
 Scanner meanwhile went after Ian in the TV room. He was   
watching Batman The Animated Series and reading a  
TV listings guide at the same time. He looked about 16  
years old, and not bad at that, Scanner decided, but not as  
nice as... well, anyway, she wasn't here to glower, she was  
here to check on Phil's location.  
  
 *He's here.* said Scanner telepathically. *Watching TV.*  
  
 *Does he look dangerous?*' asked Scott.   
  
 *He's only a wee lad.* replied Scanner. *I don't think he  
can be much harm to anyone.*  
  
 *Yet.* argued the voice of Arena.  
  
 *Stay with him.* insisted Scott.   
  
 *Will do.* said Scanner. *Haven't seen this episode before.  
Is this a new series?*  
  
*What?*  
  
 *Disnae matter.* sighed Scanner.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 An hour or so later, Ian went out. Scanner followed. 'Ian!'  
screamed his mother with a hacksaw voice. 'Where d'you  
think you're going without telling your Ma? What am I supposed  
to think with you dashing out all hours of the day and never   
saying a thing? Speak to me once in a while Ian, I *am* your  
mother.'   
  
 Ian cursed under his breath. Marie found herself half wishing  
her own mother were still alive to yell at her that way. 'Just  
going to the store to pick up my comics.' claimed Ian.   
  
 'Ye probably read Vampirella ah've nae doubt.' said Scanner  
resentfully. 'Boys your age always do. Still, the new writer's   
said to be very good.'  
  
 A woman came rushing out of one of the houses down the street.  
'Debbie!' she screamed. 'Debbie where are you? Debbie? Are you  
out here?' Ian turned around and tried to slip off the other way along the  
road. 'Ian!' called out the woman. 'Ian Graham, stop right there.'  
  
 Ian twisted his neck to look at her as sneerily as possible. 'What  
is it?' he asked with a moan.   
  
 'Don't talk like that to me Ian Graham. I'm not putting up with it.'  
said the woman.  
  
 'Mum says I can't talk to muties.' said Ian, again facing away from  
her, down the road.  
  
 'Well that's fine, I don't much want to talk to your mother, and we're  
moving out soon enough since you... hurt my daughter. But if you  
have an ounce of concern in you young man, you'll tell me where   
she is and stop pretending like you're Senator Creed Junior!'  
  
 'I ain't got no idea where she is.' claimed Ian. 'You can't keep  
track of your daughter, tag her. You people should all be tagged  
anyhow.'  
  
 The woman pouted angrily, a red flame burning at the back of  
her mind. She shut her eyes and concentrated. A moment later  
she was in front of Ian, blocking his way.  
  
 'Jeezus!' yelled Ian as he jumped backwards.   
  
 'Listen here young Mr Graham.' raged the woman. 'I don't care  
what the hell you say about me and my daughter, and frankly I   
don't believe you really think these things yourself, you just  
keep saying what your parents are saying, but when I find my  
daughter's bed hasn't been slept in all night I think I have good  
reason to be worried, and if I find you've done anything else to  
hurt her, God help me I'll 'port you over the ocean and drop you  
straight in it.'  
  
 'Hey!' screamed Mrs Graham from her kitchen window. 'Hey  
you leave my boy alone you freak!'  
  
 'Oh that's rich coming from someone who hounded my family  
mercilessly until we were forced to leave the neighbourhood.  
You're one to talk about leaving people alone.' claimed the  
teleporting woman.  
  
 'You're a *freak*.' yelled Mrs Graham. 'You shouldn't be allowed  
out. I don't know what right you think you've got letting your  
daughter date my son in the first place.'  
  
 'My daughter is a human being and she can do what she pleases.  
The only monster I can see here is you.'  
  
 'Oh yeah? Just you come here and say that.' said Mrs Graham,   
and immediately regretted it. There was a woosh of air to fill the  
vacuum and then Scanner and Ian were alone. Scanner stayed to  
watch the argument for a moment, then realised Ian had moved   
on. She floated after him.  
  
 'Well ah can see Arena might be right about you after all.'  
hissed Scanner. 'Your type o'person makes me sick. Ye're  
an absolute bloody abomination.' She floated ahead of him  
to scream into his face, even if he couldn't hear her. Then  
she saw he was crying, and changed her mind.  
  
 'All the same you're no better than ye should be.' said Scanner.    
  
 *Update Marie?* asked Scott.  
  
 *I think I have the problem. He fell in love with a mutant   
girl, and dumped her when he found out what she was. Probably  
felt she'd betrayed him. It's his parent's fault, they're bad  
people.*  
  
 Some distance away, in a park, Scott, Alex and Rachel, the  
Summers three, along with Arena, who might well have been  
a Summers too for all they knew, wondered what to do next.  
  
 'This is ridiculous.' muttered Alex. 'What are you planning to  
do Scott? Try and intimidate him into not taking over the world?  
That'll only make him believe mutants really *are* a threat.'  
  
 'And we can't kill him.' added Scott.   
  
 'You *must* kill him.' argued Arena. 'That is all you *can* do.'  
  
 'No.' claimed Scott. 'There is always another way. A better way.'  
  
 Arena touched his arm. 'They said this about you.' she sighed.  
'I dreamed it was not true.'  
  
 'What are you talking about?' asked Scott.   
  
 'The legends as passed down by the old, wise one. Nathan,  
they call him. He spoke of a time when you wisely turned   
your back on the old ways of Xavier, knowing they could not work,  
and yet when the time came for you to do something real,  
something that would truly help, you backed down. Always too  
afraid to commit yourself. That is what Nathan told us.'  
  
 Scott stared at her. 'Nathan?' he puzzled. 'My own son?'  
  
 'There he is!' said Alex suddenly, pointing off down the street.  
They could see Ian coming their way, though only Rachel was  
aware of Scanner's presence by his side. 'Can he see us?'  
he asked.  
  
 'I'm shielding us.' explained Rachel. 'He has no idea. Do you  
think... do you think maybe we should do some psi-tampering?  
I could go inside his mind, take out the parts of him that are  
filled with hate, remove tha bad memories of this girl.'  
  
 'A psychic lobotomy?' asked Alex. 'Like the one Charles   
performed on Magnus? No, we can't.'  
  
 'But if it saves lives, Alex!' claimed Ray. 'You haven't seen   
what I've seen. You didn't grow up in a world like the one I  
shared with Franklin. I can't let that happen again.'  
  
 Cyclops was still considering his own position. Where did he  
truly stand between the two extremes, Xavier and Magneto?  
Would he truly be remembered, even by his own *son*, as  
having been a hindrance rather than a help? He grabbed Rachel's   
shoulder in what he hoped was a fatherly way - still not realising   
he wasn't actually her father - and looked her in the eye. 'Go on.'   
he said. 'Do it.'  
  
 Rachel flew up into the air and headed towards Ian, maintaining  
the psi-shield the whole time.  
  
 'No!' yelled Arena. 'This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I  
meant. Kill him! You have to kill him.' She seemed to be crying.  
Rachel stopped where she was, staring down at Arena who was  
becoming hysterical in her insistence, clinging on to Alex.   
Scott gave Rachel a nod and she flew on down the street towards  
Ian.  
  
 Scanner was confused. This was the man who would kill her  
friends. This was the man who would ride to power on the back  
of her *own* death, if Arena was to be believed. But she had  
never been convinced. Ian had been silent for most of the way  
from the house, not surprising since he thought he was alone.  
Suddenly he spoke.   
  
 'It's not my fault.' he muttered emotionally. 'I love Debbie. I   
thought they'd understand. I really love her. But no-one   
understands. Not Mum, not Dad, not Mrs Arena...' Scanner halted   
herself. Mrs Arena? What did he mean?  
  
 'Stop!' screamed Arena at Rachel. Ian heard her voice and looked  
around. Rachel began to descend beside him to enter his mind  
from a convenient range. But she wasn't sure she could do it.  
  
 'What's wrong?' asked Alex as he rubbed Arena's back to calm   
her down. 'This *will* work, and no-one has to die.'  
  
 'I want him dead.' said Arena, pressing her fingers to Alex's face.  
'So would you if you'd seen the video images. Him torturing that  
poor woman. Beating her. Murdering her. He said she was the   
daughter of Magneto, becase she had the same powers as him,  
and she deserved to be laid low. So he killed her, they say he'd  
already raped her. Lorna Dane. That bastard raped and killed her.'  
  
 Alex was hit. He let Arena go from his arms and turned down the  
road. He felt the power building within himself, focused at the  
young man, and let out a scream of anguish.  
  
 Scanner could see the glow begin to build. Rachel on the other  
hand was inside Ian's mind. For the briefest moment. Before   
she understood. 'No.' she whispered. And at that same moment  
Scanner realised what was going on.  
  
 *NO!* screamed Scanner with a loud psi-scream that everyone  
could hear.  
  
 But Alex was uncontainable. He had built up the energy and had to  
let it go. 'Don't do this Alex!' yelled Scott.   
  
 'She's lying!' screamed Rachel. 'She's lying, don't believe her.'  
  
 It all happened at once. Scanner tried to push Ian out of the way  
and passed straight through him. Rachel picked him up in a telekinetic  
grip and attempted to create a shield. Alex let the blast of pure plasma  
energy go, and Scott leapt into it's path, grabbing Alex's arms as he  
fell to the ground, absorbing the blast into himself.  
  
 Ian was screaming. Partially because it looked to him like a bomb  
had gone off in the park, and partially because he was floating in  
mid air. 'It's okay kid.' claimed Rachel as she dropped the psi-screens.  
'You're okay.' Then she knocked him out with a gentle telepathic  
push.  
  
 In the park, Alex was lying in the grass next to his brother, both  
of them stunned. Arena was crying.   
  
 *I knew we shouldnae ha' trusted her.* claimed Scanner.  
*Stupid bloody cow.* She flitted to Arena's side, making herself  
visible to all once again.  
  
 'Well a fine mess you've made of things.' sneered Scanner.  
  
 'Leave me alone.' said Arena. 'He should have been dead.'  
  
 'Aye, well, I've had boyfriends I wanted dead an' all Ms Deborah  
Arena, but I'd sure as hell never thought of recruiting the X-Men te   
do it.'  
  
 'What are you talking about?' asked Scott as he recovered himself.  
  
 'She was lying.' explained Rachel. 'I saw it in his head. She's  
not from the future. She lives *here*. Ian Graham was her  
boyfriend. She trusted him, and told him she was a mutant. Then  
he told his parents.'  
  
 'I think I can work out the rest.' added Marie. 'Mrs Graham must  
ha' confronted Mrs Arena, Debbie's mum, and that'd be when   
Mrs Arena announced she was a teleporter. So the families went  
to war and the kids were split up. My guess is, Debbie here felt  
betrayed.'  
  
 'He gave me up just because I'm a mutant.' sobbed Arena.   
'I wanted to kill him. But I couldn't do it myself, so I used Dad's  
astronomy charts to get up to the satellite that they complain  
about in the news. I thought Magneto would help me, but he'd   
changed from the stories. I touched his forehead and read his   
thoughts. That's how I created my story.'  
  
 'Tactile telepathy.' said Rachel. 'She can read our minds  
with a touch.'  
  
 'I'm sorry.' whispered Debbie. 'I'm really sorry.' Rachel took  
her hand and helped her to her feet.   
  
 'Listen... Debbie.' she said. 'We're going to take you back  
to your parents, and we'll have a talk with them. I'm sure we can  
help you. No matter how persecuted you feel you can always...'  
Ray paused, then said with certainty, 'You can always hope for   
a better future.'  
  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
 The End.  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
  
  



	29. Professor-X One-shot

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group using characters copyright to  
Marvel Entertainments. Please don't sue us. Pretty please.  
  
                                    Professor X  
                             The Bottom of the Barrel  
                                   by Starkalien  
                             Edited by Marysia  
  
     Charles Xavier, founder of the famous (or in some peoples eyes infamous)  
X-Men, leader of the anti-anti-mutant movement worldwide, spokesman for mutant  
kind and peaceful co-habitation between mutant and humankind, sits in his  
repulsor-chair, a nearly empty glass of Southern Comfort in his hand and the  
nearly empty bottle (recently appropriated from atop the dresser in Gambit's  
room) sitting on the windowsill in front of which he placed his chair. A  
gentle rain falls on the world outside his window and Charles can't decide  
whether it's the rain or the liquor that blurs his view of the world outside.   
A world that is slowly crumbling and slipping through his fingers.    
     He drains his glass of the sickly sweet liquor and refills his glass,  
emptying the bottle in the process. He tries to set the bottle back on the  
windowsill, but misjudges and the bottle tumbles to the floor. He tries to  
lean over and pick up the bottle but the repulsor chair hovers at such a  
height that his fingers are an inch or two short and he remains slumped to  
the side, his arm dangling in resignation.  
     "Jusss out of reash," he slurs.  "Jus' like everything elsh in my life."  
     The raindrops run down the window in silvery rivulets, reflecting broken  
images of his tattered and broken visage.  The father of the X-Men stares at  
this disfigured reflection and thinks that it is an appropriate view of a  
man such as he.  
  
                                   **********  
  
     Charles sat in his ever-present chair next to the bed of Jean Grey.  He  
had awakened in front of the window in his office a while ago and feeling  
ashamed of himself for drinking himself into a stupor he had come to the  
medical facilities within the mansion to see if he could help the nurse with  
anything.  She had assured him that there was nothing he could do, and after  
an attempt to contact Jean psionically he had to agree that she was correct.  
     He sat staring at the beautiful young redhead that had been more his  
daughter than his own child Legion had been his son as far as his  
interpersonal relationships were concerned. There was nothing there when he  
probed her.  Nothing at all.  What used to be a mind filled with vitality  
and hope and love was now simply gone. He could not help but think that he  
was directly responsible for this seemingly-irreversible tragedy.  What  
would she be if he had never brought her into his world? If he had never  
promised her that they could change the world into a place of his dreams?   
Had he doomed her the day he invited her to come to his school for gifted  
youngsters?  What would she have become if he had not interfered in her life?   
Would she have gone to college and had a career and a husband and children?   
Would she be a successful businesswoman?  Would she have come to her own  
decision to save the world from the injustices that prevailed in today's  
dangerous times?    
     A tear ran down his cheek and he was surprised that his hand found a  
rather full beard when he went to wipe it away. Jean would have reproved him  
rather soundly for letting himself get in such a condition.  She had always  
taken it upon herself to mother himself and the other residents of the  
mansion. She had never had the chance to mother a child of her own and even  
now with a child growing within her womb she would not have that chance.  Yet  
another life that he could hold himself responsible for destroying..... even  
before it begins.  
     How could the dream have gone so wrong?  All he ever wanted to do was to  
make life better for everyone in the world.  How, why could things have gone  
so horribly wrong?  How many lives could he hold himself responsible for?   
Jean was one in a long list of deaths that would never have occurred had he  
not dragged so many young lives into his quest for the dream he created.   
Many of those lives had not yet reached 20 years of age. Children. CHILDREN!  
     Was Scott right, had he held on too long? Lost touch with reality?      
     He slumped in his chair and placed his bald head on Jeans lifeless hand,  
the tears flowing rapidly, wetting the hand that had so many times held his  
and brought comfort to others.  
     "Jean, what have I done? How did it come to this?" he wept to one that  
would never again be able to answer him.  
  
                                **********  
  
     Charles chair hovered over the walkway that led to the front doors of his  
impressive mansion. It was on this very spot that Jubilation Lee had taught  
him how to roller blade when he had had a brief respite from the loss of his  
legs. He thought himself unworthy of the joy he had felt in those brief  
moments. He hoped that Sean and Emma would do better for Jubilee and the  
other young mutants they had taken charge of than he had done by his wards.  
     The rain had stopped but the grass still gleamed as he looked out across  
the grounds. Over there was where Jean and Scott had been married, a  
marriage that ended with one young life in a coma and the other bitter and  
resentful of his lot in life. Over there he could see the playing field upon  
which far to few games of football and baseball had been played. All to  
brief were the joyous shouts and happiness that had filled that field.  Far  
too little of children's joy had filled the grounds of a school that had been  
filled with children.  
     He glided his chair down to the edge of the house and looked around the  
back at the lake.  It looked like a wonderful place for children to explore  
and find happiness.  Seeing it now he cursed himself for not letting the  
youngsters in his charge have real childhoods.  He had asked them to be  
adults in an adult world and face realities that most adults on the planet  
could not understand, much less deal with, and as children they had  
fulfilled his request to be adults. How could he have expected such young  
people to make such an adult decision?  
     He glided slowly down to the lake's edge and stopped there, looking out  
across the lake as the sun reflected its rays from the waves in glints and  
flashes.  He remembered all the young lives that had come through his home  
and been put directly or indirectly under his care. The ones that were left  
living were at best separated from society by their notoriety and in the  
worst cases outlaws in the eyes of much of the world he had asked them to  
protect. The ones that had died, from Warpath to Illyana to Jean, had all  
died for nothing. His dream was even further from being a reality than when  
he had first decided to change the world.  
     How many of the horrible atrocities that had been committed in recent  
years were due to his formation of the X-Men?  How many people, mutants and  
humans alike, had died as a result of his dream? Could he be held responsible  
for the unspeakable acts that many of the criminals pitted against his X-Men  
committed? Would Stryfe ever have created his cursed Legacy Virus if there  
had never been X-Men to fight him? He shuddered as he contemplated the  
implications of such an idea.  
     He looked out across the lake and wondered if he should glide his chair  
out to the center of the lake and simply turn it off.  Let the lake claim his  
life in an utterly insufficient attempt to repay his tragedies.  But it  
wouldn't be an attempt at reparation. No. It would be an attempt to end the  
pain he suffered for the atrocities he had committed.  Nothing could ever  
make up for the loss of lives and the pain inflicted upon others by his hand  
and he deserved to live to suffer for the losses he had caused.  
     He turned his chair and headed back to the mansion.  As he neared the  
house he vowed to himself to try harder to make up for the crimes he  
considered himself as having committed. He would stop drinking so much.  He  
would devote his every effort to helping Hank to solve the mystery of the  
Legacy Virus.  He would do whatever it was that he could do to help his former  
students and friends to solve the problems that they were now faced with.  But  
wasn't that what he'd always done, or tried to do?  What if all he could do  
was to make things worse.  He could devote every last moment of his waking  
hours to making up for the lives destroyed by his attempt at being the world's  
saviour and still fail.  
     He stopped at the front door and turned to look once more across the  
grounds and watched as sunset fell across the grounds of his failure.  
  
  
  
  
  



	30. Uncanny X-Men #334

 This is a piece of X-Writers fanfic. Many of the characters and   
things and stuff herein belong to Marvel. We have no money,   
we do this only to entertain, therefore, in the interests of all  
parties, we kindly request not to be sued.  
 - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Prologue:  
  
 His name was Henry McCoy, also known as Beast. He was blue, he  
was furry, and he was deeply disturbed. Actually he was more grey   
than blue, and 'furry' was hardly the right word to describe the  
texture of the coarse hair that covered his bulky form, but he was  
definitely disturbed.  
  
 In his own world he had been one of Apocalypse's most feared  
and favoured servants. In this world he had achieved no such  
status. In this world he had struggled and fought for even the  
slightest glimpse of power, and each time he had failed, right up  
to the recent attempt to harness the incredible might of young  
Nate Grey. Whether they realised it or not, the angels dominated  
this world, and it made things very difficult for the likes of the  
Dark Beast. Then again it wasn't just the angels he had to worry  
about. His morlocks had been wiped out by a man who was  
anything but angelic. A man he had been carefully avoiding ever  
since.  
  
 That was why he was feeling ever so slightly nervous now,  
pinned back in his chair by the forceful gaze of one Nathaniel  
Essex.   
  
 'I saw you.' he said. 'In the mind of a man called Bishop.   
You're from another reality it would seem. Hardly the  
same man as the McCoy I know.'  
  
 'What are you doing here?' asked Beast nervously. 'How did  
you find me?'  
  
 'By digging.' replied Sinister. 'I recently returned from a little  
trip to Genosha, where I used to have a... running concern.  
Just as I destroyed your morlocks, I have been destroying  
the mutates. It didn't suit my wishes to have generations of  
research - *my* research - exposed for such... public  
consumption. As luck would have it, no sooner had my exploits  
in Genosha been uncovered than did I intercept a message   
transmitted from deep beneath the streets of Genosha. I was  
first on the scene, and I encountered a man called Dr David  
Moreau, clearly deeply distressed. He had been abandoned  
in the lair of the Sugarman. Does the name ring any bells?'  
  
 Beast nodded slowly.   
  
 'I copied Sugarman's files and wiped them before the Magistrates  
could arrive. I was very surprised to find McCoy named in those  
files, until I realised which one he meant. And he had your address  
too. Isn't that fortunate?'   
  
 'What are you going to do to me?' asked Beast.  
  
 'Well I really should punish you for stealing my work.' said  
Sinister. 'Even if it *was* a different me. What do you think  
Beast? What should I do to you?'  
  
 'Recruit him.' said a new voice.  
  
 'Oh no.' said Beast. 'Oh God no!' Sinister turned with great   
reluctance to face the man who had once been his master, and  
could well be again.  
  
 'I have need of you Essex.' claimed Apocalypse. 'There comes  
a time of testing.'  
  
 'Testing?' queried Sinister. 'For whom?'  
  
 Apocalypse smiled. 'I have uncovered the last fruits of that distant  
betrayal Essex.' he explained. 'The destruction of Almagordo was  
not enough. The last seeds of Onslaught must be destroyed.'

  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
The X-Writers Present:  
Uncanny X-Men #334 - One Night At Harry's.  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Dedicated to Warren Ellis, who taught   
us the importance of pubs in comics.  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
One Week Later...  
  
 Elizabeth Braddock raced in from the rain and dropped her bags  
onto a bench at the nearest table before pulling off her thick beige   
coat and hanging it up by the door. That was the last time she took   
the bus to the shops. It had been a vain attempt to spend less money   
today. If she didn't have the car she could only buy as much  
as she could carry, that was the theory. In practise it just meant  
she ended up carrying more than her arms could take. Still, it was  
worth it in the end. Nothing like gratuitous expenditure to set a  
mind back on track, after all. And Warren would love the suit she'd  
picked up for him, even if it wasn't bespoke tailoring.  
  
 More importantly she'd picked up a few ideas for a new look,  
although perhaps Moschino and Versace would be a little too much  
for a 'superhero'. Still, anything was better than the uncomfortable  
pinching outfit she'd worn since the Lady Mandarin days. It may  
have aided freedom of movement, but by God did it chafe, and the  
marks it left on her skin were not pleasant. Besides, if she wanted  
a wonderbra effect she was perfectly able to buy herself a wonderbra.  
She blamed Kwannon. It was that part of her mind that had loved   
the ninja sexkitten look. Well Betsy Braddock was sick of it. She  
had no intention of becoming another Jean Grey with all the  
fractured voices inside her head.   
  
 She walked over to the bar and ordered a Pimms and lemonade.  
Then she spotted Ororo on the other side of the room. She grabbed   
her bags and went over to join her.  
  
 'Hello Ororo.'  
  
 'Elizabeth! Sit down, please.' said Ororo. 'I see you've been  
shopping.'   
  
 'One or two essentials.' claimed Betsy. 'I'm considering a new  
look. Maybe do something with my hair too.'  
  
 'Can you bear to actually cut it this time?' asked Ororo with a  
smile. She remembered the time Betsy had used her telepathy  
a few months back to make people believe she'd cut her hair  
short, as an experiment, she had said.  
  
 'I'll do mine if you do yours.' decided Betsy. 'We can get you  
a new outfit too. Too much black leather is going to do things  
to your mind, Ororo.' she laughed. Ororo laughed too. A casual  
chat at Harry's, these didn't happen often enough. Too often they  
let their problems overwhelm them. Too many long evenings   
were wasted caught up in the endless angst. They had earned  
the occassional rest, and perhaps tonight they could start to  
collect on their earnings.  
  
 - An hour later -  
  
 Betsy dipped an onion ring into the mustard and slipped it into  
her mouth.   
  
 'The look on their faces!' laughed Ororo. 'I think Kitty could have  
died there and then. Poor Piotr was too confused to know *what*  
to do.'  
  
 'He must have been a naive lad.' said Betsy with a smirk. 'I'm   
sure I could teach him a thing or two.' she added, licking the  
breadcrumbs off her fingers.  
  
 'Oh Elizabeth!.' gasped Ororo with mock indignation. 'He's not  
even your type. Besides, I think he caught up on his lessons  
in the Savage Land. You remember his boy, don't you?'  
  
 'Yes.' said Betsy quietly. 'Yes. Sweet boy. Do you suppose he...  
he got out?'  
  
 Ororo fell silent. She had at least for a moment forgotten about  
the Savage Land, lord knows how. Destroyed by nuclear explosions  
in an overzealous attempt to destroy the Shadow King. 'We can hope.'   
said Storm.   
  
 'Well.' said Betsy, desperate to change the subject. 'Piotr may not  
have been my type but when we were stuck out in the outback even  
Gateway began to develop some appeal. I really should have taken  
advantage the time I posed nude for the boy...'  
  
 'You're shameful.' claimed Ororo.  
  
 'Oh come on! I know you felt it too. Bloody awful place it was out  
there. I'm sure your eyes did a little wandering.'  
  
 'I don't know what you mean.' said Ororo shyly.   
  
 'Oh? And I suppose you didn't enjoy it when a certain stout  
Canadian took you in his arms and kissed you?' goaded Bets.  
  
 'I will have you know that an impure thought has never entered  
my mind.' claimed Ororo. 'I am a paragon of virtue.'  
  
 'No, that's Scott you're thinking of.' argued Betsy mischievously.  
  
 'Talking of whom...'  
  
 'Ah.' said Betsy. 'Yes. Well that wasn't my fault, it was Kwannon.  
Although I admit he is quite... appealing. In a vulnerable, brooding  
way. Brooding can be so sexy, don't you think?' Ororo tried to hide   
her smile. 'Someone on your mind, Ororo?'  
  
 'No no.' claimed Ororo. 'Just... thinking.' she claimed.  
  
 Just then the tranquil peace of the bar was torn apart by the arrival  
of a deadly and terrible force. The men were here.  
  
 'Harry!' shouted Logan from the doorway. 'A round on the house,  
charge it to old Charlie. Our boy here is going to be a father!'   
  
 A cheer went up from the patrons and Sam blushed deep crimson.  
  
 'Sam's back.' said Ororo as she leapt to her feet and gestured to  
the boys. 'Congratulations Sam.' she cried.  
  
 'Or condolences as the case may be.' whispered Betsy as she  
sipped at her third drink of the evening.  
  
 - another hour later -   
  
 'I don't see that there's anything wrong with calling the boy  
Henry.' claimed Hank. 'A respectable and honourable name.'  
  
 'Not if she's a girl.' claimed Logan.   
  
 They sat around the table discussing subjects other than death,  
plague, destruction and hate, drinking to good company and   
better times, and trying, for once, to enjoy themselves. But  
it is hard to be carefree with a cluttered conscience. Remy LeBeau  
sat at the bar downing sour mash in doubles.   
  
 'Are you well Remy?' asked Ororo. 'Something seems to be  
troubling you.' He said nothing, just shifted empty shot glasses   
around on the bar towel, forming a small X, several cigarette  
ends soaking inside them. 'You miss Rogue.' she said softly.   
'I can understand that. Don't worry. I am certain she will return   
soon. Did I show you the postcard she sent?'  
  
 'Wha?' puzzled Remy. He knew where she was, in the hands  
of Mr Sinister, and he was fairly sure she wouldn't be in any  
position to send postcards.  
  
 'She says she is well, she sends her love. Nothing spectacular.  
She's in England in fact.' explained Ororo.  
  
 'What? Then we should go after her. We have to find her.'  
claimed Remy. If there was a chance, if somehow she *had*  
made contact, somehow had broken free, then he wanted to  
see her, he wanted... to apologise. As if it could do him any   
good. Ororo stopped him.  
  
 'No Remy. You tried that once before and it did not bring her  
back. She has to make her own decisions.'   
  
 'An' I wanna make mine. Tell me where she is, I have to talk  
to her, you have to let me talk to her.'  
  
 'There was no address on the postcard.' argued Ororo. 'Just  
a picture. A place called Tunbridge Wells in Essex.'  
  
 Remy was about to charge out the door before the name sunk in.  
Then he quietly slipped back to his stool. He lost all focus on the  
world outside himself for a moment, and turned to ordered  
another drink.  
  
 'Gambit?' prodded Ororo. 'Remy?'  
  
 'She's not there.' claimed Remy.  
  
 'What do you mean? How do you know.'  
  
 'Trust me Stormy. I know.'   
  
 Cannonball was in a slightly more forthcoming mood back at  
the tables, as conversation had moved away from the uneasy  
topic of his child, possibly because Pietro was becoming visibly   
restless, and on to other, more pressing matters.  
  
 'What're you talking about woman? That's no kind of game  
at all.' insisted Logan.  
  
 'Football is the game of kings.' argued Betsy. 'A true sportsman's  
game. Why, what does the canuck choose to endorse? Ice hockey?'  
  
 'There ain't nothin' wrong with ice hockey girl.' Logan assured  
her. 'It's a game with grit, that's fer sure.'   
  
 'On the contrary, if there were any grit the ice would melt.' argued  
Hank. 'And then what would you do? Play water polo?'  
  
 'That's another point. *Real* football has none of this reliance on  
equipment or expensive protective gear. You don't need ice. You  
don't even need goalposts. A ball and four coats, that's all we ever  
needed when I was a schoolgirl.' claimed Betsy.   
  
 'We had no time for sports when we were young.' stated Bishop.  
'We had to learn to survive.'  
  
 'We played LaCrosse.' said Warren quickly, trying not to be dragged  
into another depressing edition of "Things To Come".  
  
 'LaCrosse? Yer kiddin' me.' laughed Logan. 'An' croquet too huh?  
I can just imagine you and Cameron Hodge with those little hoops  
and hammers.'  
  
 'At respecatble schools they teach dignified sports.' claimed   
Warren with a smile. 'Tennis was a favourite.'  
  
 'Oh he has superb wrist action.' added Betsy. Logan sprayed a  
mouthful of beer across the table. 'Did I say something wrong?'  
asked Betsy demonically.   
  
 'Will you teach your boy tennis, soccer or ice hockey Sam?  
Those are the choices our panel has selected for you.' claimed Hank.  
  
 'Or survival.' whispered Warren, earning a dirty look from  
Bishop.  
  
 'Football, please.' argued Betsy 'We *never* call it soccer.'  
  
 'Well ah think... football... is a nice enough game, ah figure  
ah ain't too bad at it thanks to Bobby, so I might give that a  
go, but ah always preferred baseball.'  
  
 'Ah, now we're talkin'.' claimed Logan. 'And if the kid has  
it's mother's aim it'd make a great pitcher.'  
  
 'Is aim hereditary?' asked Betsy. 'I wouldn't have thought so.'  
  
 'Maybe Tabitha has mutant aiming skills.' argued Hank. 'A  
secondary ability. The sum totality of her kinetic powers.'  
  
 'Shut up Hank.' smiled Betsy.  
  
 Pietro sat back in his chair with his orange juice in hand - he  
had chosen not to drink since the seperation from his wife and  
child, he'd tried drowning his sorrows before and though it was  
true that he could never be drunk for very long, he still knew  
he shouldn't hide his problems with alcohol. He felt fingers at  
his back, resting on the chair. Turning his head he noticed Ororo  
watching over the conversation.  
  
 'They all seem to be enjoying themselves.' she remarked.   
'Why are you not joining in the conversation?'  
  
 'I'm not in the mood.' claimed Pietro. 'I was watching the  
television instead.' He pointed to where a film silently   
played itself out over the bar, the volume turned down to a  
whisper, drowned by the noise of chatter.   
  
 'Can you hear it?' asked Ororo.  
  
 'I can work out what they're saying, yes. This is a Hollywood  
film, one can usually guess the dialogue before they've spoken  
it.'  
  
 Ororo's hands slipped onto Pietro's shoulders. 'You really  
are very tense.' she claimed. 'You ought to relax more.'  
  
 'Coming from you I should certainly be worried.' claimed  
Pietro.   
  
 'You have a point. We should both relax more. Stress is   
unhealthy.' She began to massage the hard muscles around  
his neck. 'I think we could use a little less restriction in our  
lives, don't you?'  
  
 Pietro felt the warmth of her fingers melting his tensed  
body, and against his own better judgement he seemed to  
be relaxing. 'You're very good at this.' he claimed.   
  
 'Thank you, I haven't done it before.' she replied.  
  
 Further against his better judgement, Pietro actually  
smiled. 'Uh.. thank you Storm.' he said.  
  
 'Please, Pietro, you *can* call me by my real name when  
we're "off-duty".' said Ororo. 'And don't worry, I'll let you  
return the favour. Later.'  
  
 - and another hour... -   
  
 Bishop made his way to the "Gentlemen's", hearing a call  
that could never be refused. On the way there he almost   
collided with Warren.  
  
 'Sorry.' he muttered.  
  
 'You should watch your step.' claimed Warren, then walked  
on back to the bar.  
  
 At first Bishop took the remark at face value, before realising  
that perhaps he was being a little too trusting for someone  
who was always on edge. Betsy must have told him. About  
the kiss he had stolen that night when Magneto visited the  
mansion (UXM #330 - AW). But... she must have understood.  
It wasn't his fault that he had these broken fragments of  
memory in his mind. He didn't know where they had come from,  
it *wasn't* his fault. Equally, he didn't know where they had  
gone, but ever since Genosha he hadn't been plagued by  
even one more nightmare. Strange. Then he remembered  
the urgent call and carried on to the men's room.  
  
 A few moments later he emerged and headed back to the table.  
Elizabeth was in his way. 'Hello Bishop.' she said. 'Follow  
me.' She walked out the back door of Harry's, he was close behind.  
In the deep blue of the night she sat on the edge of a wooden  
picnic table in the empty gardens of the bar. In moonlight and  
shadow she looked beautiful, her long hair sweeping across her  
intense, yet delicate face on the whisper of the wind. 'We need to   
talk.' she said. 'About what happened back then.'  
  
 'That was weeks ago.' said Bishop. 'I had hoped we could  
forget about it. It was a mistake, I wasn't feeling myself.'  
  
 'I *know* who you were feeling.' replied Betsy. 'Warren  
quizzed me about it when we got back from Genosha.  
Apparently Gambit had said something. I don't know how,  
but that Cajun always seems to know what's going on. I'm  
not going to live under one roof with you two if you're going  
to start spitting fire at each other.'  
  
 'I haven't said a word. Neither has he.' claimed Bishop.  
'Well, he's been acting a little...'  
  
 'Yes, I know. And I don't like it. I saw inside your head   
Bishop, and there were some confusing things in there. I  
think they must be your memories. You come from a future  
where the X-Men are remembered as folk-heroes, and I  
think you still have trouble distinguishing between the  
fiction and the fact. Now maybe you fell in love with me  
as a boy, maybe you had some sort of pre-pubescent  
fantasy about the deadly ninja telepath Psylocke, but I'm  
the real thing Bishop, and I won't be part of your fantasy.'  
  
 'I think you're right.' said Bishop. 'I think perhaps that   
*is* where my problems lay. I don't know, something   
snapped in my head and for a while there everything  
seemed wrong, but now... now my head is clear. You have  
nothing to worry about Elizabeth. I promise I will not be  
causing you any more trouble.'  
  
 'Good.' smiled Betsy. 'Let's go back inside and get  
drunk.'  
  
 As they stepped in out of the evening chill, they were  
hit again by the light and noise and atmosphere that seems  
unique to a busy pub. They headed for the table where   
Sam and Logan were arguing over some triviality, where  
Warren and Hank were reminiscing about some man in a cobra  
suit called Vanisher, and where Ororo and Pietro seemed to  
be getting ready to leave.  
  
 'Going back to the mansion Ororo?' asked Betsy.  
  
 'I'm tired.' she claimed. 'My apologies. Pietro has agreed  
to be the gentleman and walk me home.'   
  
 'Of course.' said Betsy. *Have fun.*  
  
 *I don't know what you mean.* claimed Ororo.   
  
 *Sorry I forgot.* said Betsy. *You're a paragon of virtue.*  
  
 As they headed for the door Logan shouted 'Hey Harry, turn  
it up willya?' Ororo glanced back to where the overweight  
landlord was straining for the volume on the television. The  
news was on, and the picture over the reader's shoulder was  
of Carter Ryking, Hazard.  
  
 The newsreader's voice suddenly was audible. '...in his private  
room at the Ryking Institute earlier this afternoon. His father   
Alexander Ryking died only months ago, apparently causing  
Mr Ryking to break out of the institute and abduct leading geneticist   
and pro-mutant activist Professor Charles Xavier, although he was  
later captured and returned by a group of mutants claiming to  
be the X-Men. Mr Ryking's death is not being treated as  
suspicious.'  
  
 'Goddess no!' gasped Ororo. 'Charles!'  
  
 She abandoned Pietro and raced out the door, then rose on  
a rush of wind towards the mansion.  
  
 - - - -   
  
  He was in the infirmary. He sat in the dark by Jean's bedside,  
holding her hand, a bottle resting in his lap. He was crying. He  
was drunk.  
  
 'Charles.' she called out, silhouetted in the doorway. 'Charles,  
I saw the news. I'm sorry. I know you and he were friends once.   
I know how painful this must be.'   
  
 He didn't reply, but rather tried to ignore her, tried to ignore the  
questions as he had tried to do all his life. She would not permit  
him this luxury so easily. She walked to his side and knelt to see   
his face. She smelt the strong stench of stale whisky on his breath,   
and took the bottle away.   
  
 'It's all over.' he whimpered. 'It's all over.'  
  
 'Don't be foolish Charles.' she insisted. 'There is no call for talk   
like that. You need sleep. I will take you back to your room.' She   
tried to prise his fingers apart from Jean's, but he would not be   
moved. 'Charles please.' she demanded.   
  
 His face froze in a silent scream, his eyes stinging with salt  
tears. The mix of alcohol and emotion was not a healthy one  
for any man, but for this man, whose very life was slowly falling  
apart, it was shattering. He had lost all focus. He had lost all  
hope. 'I don't need sleep.' he told her, half demanding, half pleading.   
'I don't ever want to sleep again. If I sleep I can dream. I've had  
enough dreams.' He was tiring, weakening. Ororo finally loosened   
his grip and took his hands in her own.  
  
 'We will talk about this in the morning.' she told him. 'In the   
meantime you *must* sleep.' She stood up and began to force  
his hoverchair towards the door. The slow steady hum of the  
Shi'ar technology was already hushing him into a gentle slumber.   
They left the bleak infirmary, and the door slid shut behind them.   
  
 - - - - - - - - - - - -   
Next Issue: Traitor's Gate. You've read the Marvel   
version, now see how it was *meant* to happen.  
 - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  



	31. X-Men #54

I do not have X-Men #54 but I am unsure if it is missing or if there was a misnumbering problem.


	32. The Darker Side #5: Traitor's Gate

 - Disclaimer: X-Writers is a non-profit making group that uses characters    
   and other stuff owned by Marvel. Please don't sue, we're poor and we       
   mean no harm.  
 - Warning: This story isn't terribly pleasant, so we've stuck a Mature       
   Readers label on it. Go ask your Mummy.  
 - Continuity Note: The events portrayed herein take place after the 19th     
   Century sections of X-Men #49, except the prologue, which is set before    
   XM #49. Got it? Good.  
 - Author's Note: Events portrayed in Marvel's The Further Adventures of      
   Cyclops and Phoenix do not take place in our chronology, so this, in       
   effect, is the x-writers version. That's the last note, I promise. Roll credits!  
  
**************************************************************  
  The Darker Side #5  
   "Paternoster"  
  Written by Andrew Wheeler  
  Edited by Marysia  
**************************************************************  
  
Prologue:  
  
 Bones and blood knitted into a human form, a new incarnation for the man  
who was made god, the destroyer, the death, the apocalypse.   
  
 In the fetid darkness of a catacomb beneath a building they thought a  
temple, he moved again. It was claimed that this church may be where the  
Arc of the Covenant itself lies, and only the holiest of holies may enter  
through it's doors else they will be smitten by God's wrath. One lone monk  
is chosen from each generation to hold guard over the Arc, and even he may  
never look upon it, nor leave the building until death.   
  
 This was the blissful irony, then. It was not the Arc that lay here, but  
he to whom it is anathema. He built this place for his own rejuvenation,  
one of many such shrines about the globe. So many years ago he had suffered  
death at the hands of the sorcerer who had called himself Exodus - death  
from a terrible, powerful weapon that rendered him closer towards oblivion  
than he had ever been. Now, finally, he had strength enough to rise again,  
and he would exact vengeance upon Exodus in the most terrible way, by  
turning those he loved against him. (See X-Men #49)  
    
 The monk, in a state of meditative prayer, sought answers from on high.  
All he got was a shattered skull and a desecrated temple.  Rahvin  
ben-Simeon, En Sabah Nur, walked again.   
  
 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   
  
Four years later...  
  
  Nathaniel Essex let out a scream. The heat shooting through his body was  
unbearable. He was sure it would kill him. That, of course, could not be  
the case. "Eat of my flesh, Essex." he had been told, "Drink of my blood. I  
will show you what it means to have eternal life." So he had agreed, and  
had sworn allegiance to Apocalypse, committed these barbaric acts of  
cannibalism and betrayed his teacher Paris, and in return he had been run  
through with a sword and lost the woman he loved, Cynthia. That was his  
reward for selling his soul.  
  
 The gift of immortality allowed him to survive Bennet's attack, but the  
power of the weapon had kept him inactive for months. Now, perhaps  
foolishly, he was testing his gift, poisoning his own body to see what he  
could endure. In time he would be able to use his skills as a doctor to  
alter his own body, to grant himself the power of the coming super-race  
that he had foretold.   
  
 Tears rolled down his cheeks as he struggled to remain conscious. He would  
not surrender. If he could - no, *when* he could alter his body the first  
thing he would do was make the pain go away. He screamed once again and  
collapsed forward from his chair.  
  
 'Have strength Nathaniel.' said a leaden voice. 'You are my guide in this  
changed world, it will not do to have you weak. Weakness I will not  
tolerate. Remember, only I may end your life, and I may do so whenever I  
choose. You are part of me now.'  
  
 Essex struggled to his feet. He made it back to the chair and stared at  
Apocalypse through stinging eyes. To look at him he would appear no more  
than any other man, but then, the devil always could appear in any form,  
and that was a trick Apocalypse, also now called Simeon Nicholas, had  
certainly mastered. A trick which Essex noted he too could well do with  
learning.  
  
 Nicholas, tall, slight of build, knife like in the face with a flurry of  
wiry white hair, stepped towards the centre table in Essex's basement  
laboratory. He cast his eyes over the various instruments and elements he  
saw there, taking in very little. 'How will this help us, Essex? What  
purpose do all these... little things serve?'  
  
 'They help us understand.' said Essex through gritted teeth, and adding,  
because he knew how Apocalypse's mind worked, 'Only with understanding can  
we be stronger in this day and age. Everything now is dominated by  
science.'  
  
 'Even God?'  
  
 Essex screamed again, then threw up. A cold shock ran through his body and  
a second time he lurched out of his chair, this time landing in a pool of  
his own vomit. He gasped for breath, wondering if he had purged the poison,  
then wondering if he could handle more.  
  
 'Did you hear my question Nathaniel?'  
  
 'Yes.' gasped Essex, shivering, his face flushed white, his body hollow  
and ringing. 'I don't know.' he answered. 'Sometimes it seems that way.  
Sometimes.' He gulped for more air. 'You know the arguments; creation on  
one side, evolution on the other. You've heard them a thousand times.'  
  
 'Are you scared of God, Nathaniel?'  
  
 Essex pulled himself onto the workbench and staggered across to the sink  
for water. 'Are you?' he asked.  
  
 After a pause Essex turned from the sink to face Nicholas. Nicholas was  
coldly focused back at him. 'I do not fear God. I *am* God.' he claimed. He  
walked back to the staircase without another word.   
   
 Essex drank down the water and poured another glass, then threw up again  
into the sink.  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "our father who art in heaven..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 Years. How could he have been in the wrong place for so many years? When  
he had felt the dark one rising again he had raced to Egypt and searched  
for as many months as he could bear it, out in intolerable heat, scarred a  
thousand times by the sand. How absurd that the dark one should be in *his*  
home, in London. Yet he had searched on, into all the old places, all the  
places the sources told him he had been before and might go again, even as  
far as the Americas, and only when he had exhausted his entire estate had  
he returned home, to find his prey waiting there for him. At home.  
  
 The wind rifled through his papers, picked one out and snatched it from  
under his arm, throwing it into the dark sky. 'Damn!' he cursed as it  
circled above him. He couldn't reach out for it without dropping his  
leather case and sending all the papers flying.  
  
 Then a hand shot into the glow of the gaslight, reaching up and snatching  
the paper back from the invisible thief. She stepped forward, her eyes  
fixed on the sketch before her, a gentle looking girl with fine brown hair  
tucked into a bonnet. A large black cape flowed from her narrow shoulders,  
giving an edge to her angelic charms.  
  
 She looked up at the man and handed him the sheet. 'That's a scary looking  
chap.' she said. 'Who is... oh! Father Blakely. You're back!' she gasped  
excitedly.  
  
 'Do I know you child?' asked Blakely. He tried to get a fix on her eyes,  
shadowed by the bonnet.   
  
 'Elsie! Elsie Beeche. My mother was Harriet, we went to your church. Well,  
I still do but it's not you any more. We thought you'd never come back from  
your travels. Mother *so* wanted you to be here, to give her last rites.'  
  
 'Harriet Beeche is dead?'  
  
 'Four months past. But she went peacefully, thanks be to the Lord.' said  
Elsie. 'Where did you go to? Why are you back?'  
  
 'Oh I went everywhere I could go, and came back because there was nowhere  
left.' he told her. 'I'm sorry about your mother, she was a fine woman, she  
did a lot for the church.'  
  
 'She did. She asked me to carry on her work, so I do. That's why I'm out  
now, taking tracts door to door.' explained Elsie.  
  
 'Alone? It's dark Elsie. Anything might happen to you.' said Blakely.  
'Come with me, I'll walk you home.'  
  
 'But I want to go up to the estates before it gets too dark.'  
  
 'It already is too dark. Especially for the estates. There are some very  
ungodly people in those old houses.' claimed Blakely.  
  
 'All the more reason to go.' Said Elsie. 'I suppose I would be better  
going tomorrow afternoon though. Talking of ungodly, who was that fellow in  
the picture?'  
  
 Father Blakely, the picture now safely tucked away, took Elsie's arm and  
led her off down the streets. 'That was nothing Elsie. Just something from  
my travels.' In truth, it was a picture from a Mayan temple of one of their  
gods. They had called him 'the blue hummingbird', one of the most  
bloodthirsty gods in their pantheon, to whom thousands had been cruelly  
sacrificed. One of many guises for the dread Apocalypse. And another such  
guise was that of Simeon Nicholas. And he lived at 6 Milbury Lane. One of  
the estates.  
  
 . . . .    
   
 "hallowed be thy name..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 Early morning, and Father Blakely was headed back to the home of Elsie  
Beeche, the home she shared with her brother and two sisters. He had been  
worried for her all night long, he could not let her go alone to the  
estates. How to stop her was the question, how to persuade her without  
telling her of his studies? Then it had come to him. She was a strong,  
intelligent, pious girl, and he was getting old whilst his adversary got no  
weaker. The answer was that he *must* tell her, tell her everything. If her  
belief was as strong as her mother's had been, she would understand. Then  
when he was dead and gone, she could carry on his crusade and one day, God  
willing, destroy the Apocalypse.  
  
 He reached the curved terrace and headed for 17, the small, unassuming  
home that Harriet Beeche had left for her children. He knocked hard on the  
door and a man came to answer it.  
  
 'Father, what are you doing back this morning?' asked Robert Beeche.   
  
 'Where is young Elsie? I wish to speak with her on matters of the church.'  
replied Blakely.  
  
 'I am sorry Father, you've missed her.' claimed Robert. 'I can't say how  
long she will be but I suspect she will be back by lunchtime. If you would  
care to wait...'  
  
 'Where did she go?' asked Blakely. 'It really is very urgent.'  
  
 'To spread the word. She's headed up to the estates.' said Robert. 'Is  
there something wrong?'   
  
 'Dear God have mercy.' whispered Blakely. 'She said she would go in the  
afternoon.'  
  
 'She remembered an invitation to tea.' explained Robert. 'If you'd rather  
not wait you can leave a letter for her. I'll get you some paper.'  
  
 'No.' snapped Blakely a little too harshly. 'No. I must go up there  
myself.' Father Blakely turned away down the steps and attempted to hail a  
carriage from the corner of the street.  
  
 Meanwhile, Simeon Nicholas was in no better a state. Essex had dared  
question him, dared suggest the very *idea* that he may be afraid. But  
Rahvin ben-Simeon had faced the might of God before and still lived. He  
could only have been made yet stronger by such an encounter, and would  
never be felled the same way twice.  
  
 The hallway bell rang out. There were no permanent staff at this house,  
they could not have allowed the risk of anyone overhearing, deliberately or  
otherwise, their intentions. So it was with usual bad grace that Simeon  
Nicholas went to open the door, well aware that Essex in his basement would  
have heard nothing.  
  
 There, stood out in the porch, was a young and pretty girl, a tract in her  
hand emblazoned with the sign of the cross. 'Good morning sir,' she said,  
'I'm distributing these tracts on behalf of the church of St Mary the  
Blessed Mother, would you care to take one?'  
  
 Simeon Nicholas looked coldly at the leaflet, then at her innocent face,  
and smiled. He was stronger than God, and here he could prove it.  
  
 . . . .  
  
 "thy kingdom come..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 He was still breathless, he had paid off the carriage a short distance  
ahead of the estates and had run the rest of the way to the house, or  
rather, to the back of the house. He was about to shatter one of the panels  
of glass in the kitchen door before realising that it might not be locked.  
It wasn't.  
  
 He walked through the kitchen and into the corridor, where he passed a  
staircase leading down into the basement. He could hear voices. Not their  
words, just the voices. Two of them. So they were both down there, the  
devil and his familiar. Blakely returned to the kitchen and looked around  
for a knife. He saw a cleaver jammed into the butcher's block by the stove  
and wrenched it free, then went back past the basement door and on towards  
the dining room. Nothing. The same in the drawing room, nobody there, no  
signs of life. Except for one thing. A marble ashtray still smouldering.   
Blakely carefully picked out the remaining burnt up fragment of paper from  
amongst the ash and saw what was left of a cross upon it.   
  
 He ignored the other rooms on the ground floor and quietly slipped  
upstairs, fearing what he would find. The first room he came to at the top  
of the stairs was guarded by a dark black door. He pushed it open and saw  
her. Elsie Beeche lay naked and half dead in a pool of her own blood,  
spread across white linen sheets, dripping into the carpet. Her eyes were  
closed, she could have been a corpse if it were not for her pained  
breathing.   
  
 . . . .   
  
 "thy will be done..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 Blakely shut the door behind himself and went to her side, laying his  
blade down. He wrapped her in the sheets and whispered a prayer in latin,  
pressing the wooden rosary from his pocket into the palm of her cold hands.  
Then he looked over her torn, violated, pearl white body once more and  
began to intone the prayer for last rites.   
  
 He stopped himself. This was a time for prayer, yes, but he could not  
allow her to die here in this evil place. Or perhaps he was afraid of  
discovery. Whichever. He had to get her away from him. He would carry her  
outside, into the blessed daylight, and she could die under God. Blakely  
realised he would have to go down and open the front door before carrying  
her out. He picked up the cleaver and left the room.  
  
 Nathaniel Essex stood on the stairway engrossed in a book. He looked up a  
moment too late to see Blakely, who swung the cleaver at Essex's head,  
slicing it into his neck and pushing him backwards down the stairs. Then  
Blakely ran past his twisted body to unlock the front door, ran back to  
Elsie, and picked her up in his arms.  
  
 He staggered out into the bright light of midday and raced along the lane  
away from the house, towards the park. There was a Mission near here, a  
place of God. If he could get that far, if he could even hope to get her  
that far...  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "on earth as it is in heaven..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 A few months later, mid winter. Father Blakely walked the white snow roads  
towards the Hospice. He was a devout man, he would not suffer the Devil's  
presence on this earth, but he could not have stayed in London where he  
might have done the most good, where he could have continued his fight. He  
could never return to England, not whilst there were questions. He had been  
seen with Elsie's red body as he had crossed the park, and the poor girl  
had not been seen by her family thereafter. He was wanted for murder now,  
no questions ever having been asked at the house in Milbury Lane. No-one  
had ever any need to ask there.   
  
 So he had fled to New England with help from the Mission, and here he was  
living a new life. He carried on his research of course, always looking for  
the key to the destruction of Apocalypse. And perhaps he had it. He walked  
up to the double doors of the Hospice and knocked. One of the nuns answered  
it.  
  
 'Hello Father.' she said. 'Isn't this weather terrible? You really must  
come on inside.'  
  
 'Any improvement?'   
  
 'No Father. No change at all.'  
  
 He walked down the corridor into a sparse white room where, on a single  
hard wooden chair, dressed in a plain white robe, Elsie Beeche sat, her  
lifeless eyes fixed on the cracked plaster walls. In her hand was a   
wooden rosary, gripped tight, a single bead locked between thumb and  
forefinger. In a low, empty whisper she was reciting a prayer, the same  
prayer she had been repeating every moment she was awake since she had come  
to the hospice. Our Father. Never another word spoken. Perhaps she wanted  
to cleanse herself of her ordeal. Or perhaps she knew that the child she  
carried within her was the seed of the devil, and that he must be saved.  
She deserved that much.  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "give us, this day, our daily bread..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
  Blakely sat by the fire, reading his notes. He knew nothing about  
science, that wasn't his field, but he knew that the child would have  
power, and hoped that he may have power enough to destroy Apocalypse.  
His studies across the globe had taught him about the powerful ones, the  
mighty forces in this vast cosmos that could make all the difference.  
Apocalypse was one, but there were others. He had encountered a group of   
monks in Ireland who endeavoured to create an earthly host for a force they  
called the Child of Light, and he too would be one of the few. This child  
might be another, and if not him, then his children, or his children's  
children. One day there would come a force equal even to Apocalypse   
himself, for God must surely triumph in the end.   
  
 He stabbed at the fire with his poker, allowing air to circulate about the  
logs. The flames flickered down for a moment as cold wind blew across them.  
A presence had entered the room.  
  
 'Hello Father Blakely.' said a voice. 'The sisters at the London Mission  
send their love.'  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "and forgive us our trespasses..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 Blakely gripped the poker hard and swung 'round. The red hot point  
connected with the pale, altered face of Nathaniel Essex, burning into his  
forehead. Essex screamed and half turned, half fell to get away.  
  
 'What are you doing here?' asked Blakely, holding his foe at bay with the  
iron lance.  
  
 'Vengeance Father.' hissed Essex through brief tears. 'You must pay for  
what you did to me. Pay twice over now.' He dragged himself away and onto  
his feet.   
  
 'So your master didn't send you?'  
  
 'He is not my master.' claimed Essex with little conviction. 'I have no  
master, not even death.' He stepped forward and grabbed the searing poker  
in his hand. 'And not even pain.' Essex tore the poker from Blakely's grip  
and threw it to the ground.   
  
 'Don't be a fool.' hissed Blakely. 'Of course he is your master. Without  
him what would you be? What pain would you feel? What death would you  
suffer? He has purchased your soul, and you will be destroyed because of  
it. There is no hope for you whilst your master lives, and you are as fool  
as any man to not realise it.'  
  
 Essex stared disdainfully upon the old man. Behind him the carpet began to  
burn. 'Which of us do you believe will be destroyed this day?' he asked.   
  
 'If you kill me we are both destroyed, as are all men. Apocalypse shall  
rule, and he will have no need of weak men like you. I know how he may be  
destroyed, only I can save you from your fate.'  
  
 'Then you had better decide if your pride is greater than salvation  
Father.' said Essex. 'I will not relent. If you have secrets then either  
share them with me or take them to the grave.'  
  
 Blakely locked eyes with those of Essex, wondering how strong this man's  
convictions were. And then he realised, the damned are the strongest of us  
all. For what had they to lose, what could they risk? Yet they have  
everything to gain, even if they may never have it.  
  
 And Blakely no longer had a choice. He was dead, and if the world was to  
have a hope, a prayer, he must hand over all his work to a man he could not  
trust. As the flames spread across the room, and time ran to it's close,   
there was nothing else left for him but to pass on his lessons. He took the  
pile of papers from the table by his chair. 'Most of it is here.' he  
explained. 'What else there is lies in my room, but there will not be time  
to save it. Take it, keep it, for I swear that one day you shall need it.'  
  
 In a flash a blade was drawn and Blakely's throat cut wide as Essex's own  
had been. Essex stole the papers into his arms as Blakely toppled forward,  
holding on to Essex to keep himself from falling. He raised a hand to  
Essex's head and pressed his thumb against the deep red burn on the  
forehead. 'God go with you my son.' he gasped, though it sounded like  
little more than a death rattle. He marked a cross in the blood, smearing  
it so that it appeared more like a small red diamond than a cross. Then he  
died.  
  
 Essex was far gone from the house when it fell to the power of the flames.  
An inferno of red against the deep white of the snow.  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "as we forgive those who trespass against us..."  
  
 . . . .   
  
 It was a bright and glorious day when the child was born. Too bright a day  
for a death. Still, it was fortunate that Elsie had lived for this long  
given how weak she had become. She did not die as Elsie Beeche. Blakely had  
claimed not to know her name, claimed she was a total stranger.   
  
 'A boy.' said the midwife as she held the child aloft. One of the nuns  
severed the cord to separate the newborn from the dead. 'He's small, but  
he'll be fine.' she claimed. 'He's a special one is this. And born first  
day of the summer he is. That must be a good sign.'  
  
 'Indeed.' said the doctor as he took the child from the midwife. 'A very  
good sign.'  
  
 'Let's take the child away from this room doctor.' said the midwife. 'It's  
not good to have him so near her.'   
  
 The doctor did not respond, just stared into the eyes of the crying child.  
  
 'Doctor?' she repeated. 'Dr Milbury?'  
  
 'Hmm? Oh yes, quite so. Take him away. I'm sure the sisters will be kind  
enough to look after the body.'  
  
 She took the child through to another room. As the nuns wrapped the mother  
in bedsheets they avoided the doctor's eyes. A woman had just died. It was  
not right that he should be smiling.  
  
 . . . .   
  
 "and lead us not into temptation,   
       but deliver us from evil...  
                                                amen."


	33. Uncanny X-Men #335: Traitor's Gate

 This is a piece of X-Writers fanfic. Many of the characters and   
things and stuff herein belong to Marvel. We have no money,   
we do this only to entertain, therefore, in the interests of all  
parties, we kindly request not to be sued.  
  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
The X-Writers Present: Uncanny X-Men #335  
Traitor's Gate: Part 1 - "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe."  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
Written by Andrew Wheeler.   
Edited by Marysia.  
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Morning, Harry's Hideaway:  
  
 Jack Wyndham has been working at Harry's for about a month now.  
He thought he was getting used to the place. After all, it was a pretty  
ordinary place, there wasn't much to get used to. Everyone said it had   
been attacked by supervillains a few times, but he knew that was just  
the story they told the new boy to scare him. Yup, this was definitely  
a very ordinary place.   
  
 Except for last night, when some of the regulars, the folk from the 'Institute',  
nearly bought out the bar, some of them even staying for a bit of a lock up   
after hours. Celebrating some guy's impending fatherhood apparently,  
and having a damned good time in the process. They were weird looking  
people some of them, but they drank and talked and laughed like anyone  
else. So even they were fairly ordinary, when you got down to it. They  
could also make a mess like everyone else, and this morning it fell to Jack   
to tidy up. It would take some doing. And he'd only had four hours sleep too.   
  
 He picked up a sweeping brush and began to push it across the  
floor. He had to get the place ready by lunchtime. The usual routine.  
Nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Remy LeBeau sat at the end of his bed clutching a glass of water  
and two aspirin. He'd had way too much. Not surprising to be honest,  
the mood he'd been in. With every day he betrayed the X-Men a  
little more just by his presence. After what he'd done, he had no  
right to be among them. And for what he was going to do.  
  
 'Please.' he whispered. 'Please don't. I can't do this.'  
  
 'Oh but you can.' said someone else, somewhere in his head.   
'You must. You have no choice. All I ask of you is the flick of a  
switch, the turn of a key, and soon all debts will be paid. They   
can all go free, and you may live.'  
  
 'Why now?' asked Gambit pleadingly.   
  
 'Believe me,' said the voice, 'I'm no happier about this than you.  
You're my ace, LeBeau, and I am being forced to play my hand.'  
  
 Gambit sat in fixed contemplation for a moment. Nothing more came  
from the voice. He was alone in his own head again. He swallowed  
the aspirin with a gulp of water, then stood up and headed for the door.  
He could resist.  He could warn the others. And then what? Condemn  
*them* to death. Rogue. Carmen. Grey Crow. Bernard. He couldn't do that.  
They were worth more to him than anyone. If he could get them back,  
then anything was worth the price. No matter how many times he paid  
it.   
  
 - - - -   
  
 The Xavier Institute is protected by a fantastic array of devices, many  
of them human/Shi'ar hybrids. It is near impossible for anyone to get  
on to the mansion grounds without being detected. Getting into the  
mansion is harder still, at least with all the limbs you started out with.  
With all the constant updating, it's now impossible even for a teleporter  
to get in without setting off a thousand klaxons. In fact there's only one  
surefire way to get past all the security systems at the Institute. Turn  
them off. But for that... you have to be on the inside.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Elizabeth Braddock had rarely been happier. Once upon a time she   
dreamed of being something better than she could be; she'd dreamed  
of being a hero. Then she became one, but still wanted more. She   
wanted to be stronger, more powerful, the iron woman. And she got   
that too. And then she made a new discovery. She wanted to be   
herself. And maybe, just for once, her dreams wouldn't backfire. Elizabeth  
Braddock is Psylocke, but first and foremost she is Elizabeth Braddock.  
  
 As she stood in the front hall of the mansion tying a silk scarf around  
her neck, preparing to go out, she heard a brief scream from what  
sounded like a fire alarm. A single yell from a klaxon.  
  
 'What was that?' she asked Bishop as he bounded down the stairs.  
  
 'Security.' shouted Bishop. 'That noise means it's been deactivated.'   
He rushed away towards the basement. Elizabeth stood for a moment   
wondering if she had to follow him. She really had no choice. She pulled  
off her coat, heavy enough to slow her down, and was just dropping it  
to the ground when the door crashed in and Sabretooth leapt at her  
feet, throwing her to the floor.  
  
 'Oh my God!' she yelled.  
  
 'Hiya sweetcakes. Ya miss me?' leered Sabretooth. He swiped at her  
with his claws, cutting a tear in her skirt. She kicked him in the jaw  
and rolled aside, then scrambled to her feet and headed for the stairs.  
'Takin' me to the roof again girlie? Haven't we done this dance before?'  
he grinned as he raced after her at incredible speed, already almost upon  
her. Suddenly a bolt of blue leapt from the landing above, diving into  
Creed and barrelling him down the stairs. Beast.  
  
 'Inform the others Elizabeth. I can hold him for the moment.' said Beast as  
he punched Sabretooth in the head, holding him down with his legs.  
Sabretooth sliced Hank just below the neck, almost slitting his throat.  
  
 'Roll away Beast!' shouted Bishop. Beast threw himself towards the  
wall and Bishop fired. Sabretooth managed to twist to avoid most   
of the damage, but his left shoulder was hit. He swivelled back to   
his feet and leapt at Bishop. Bishop fired directly into Creed's chest,  
and though Creed was injured he took advantage of the energy blast by   
twisting his body so that it threw him to one side, into the nearest   
door. Xavier's study. Beast moved faster than Bishop and was up to   
the door just as it slammed shut. He rammed it from it's hinges   
and entered the room to find it empty. One window was smashed.  
Sabretooth was racing towards the trees.  
  
 As Beast ran to give chase, Wolverine jumped down from the floor  
above and Psylocke appeared from the side. 'He's mine.' insisted  
Wolverine, apparently addressing Beast rather than Psylocke, who  
carried on after him.  
  
 'Nevertheless,' decided Beast, 'One should never refuse assistance.'  
  
 'They can find him.' argued Bishop. 'You should stand guard in case  
he returns. I have to go down to the basement to discover who deactivated   
security and allowed Creed to get on to the estate.'  
  
 'He got here extremely quickly, wouldn't you say?' added Beast. 'I fear  
Mr Creed is not alone. You stay up here Bishop, I'll go downstarirs. I want   
to check on Jean in the infirmary whilst I'm there. She's in no state to defend   
herself.'  
  
 - - - -    
  
 Professor Charles Xavier sat at the window of his bedroom, watching  
Wolverine and Psylocke vanishing into the trees. 'I can't get a fix on   
Creed's mind.' claimed Charles. 'Our last information regarding Creed  
was that he had been taken by Mr Sinister. He must have not only restored   
Creed to what for him passes as mental health, he has also imposed new  
psi-shields.'  
  
 'Do you think he came for Wolverine?' asked Storm, rubbing her neck.  
It was hurting because she had spent all night sleeping on a chair in the  
corner of the room, watching over the drunken wreck of a once great  
man. And yet this morning, after a difficult night's sleep, she had woken   
to find him already awake, washed and dressed, and no worse for wear.   
It seemed that no matter what he did wrong, Charles Xavier always came  
back unblemished and intact. Yet she was sore all over.  
  
 'No.' claimed Charles. 'Creed is not here on any personal vendetta, he is  
certainly not acting alone. I think we would be wise to assume that we are   
under attack from Sinister himself.'  
  
 'Should I join Bishop downstairs?' she asked.  
  
 'The others can do that. You should remain here with me, where  
we can best analyse and control the situation.' he argued.  
  
 'You can communicate with me quite ably without my being present  
Charles.' claimed Storm. 'You don't want me here for my strategic  
skills, I would better serve out there. You want me here for your own  
protection.'   
  
 'And rightly so.' said Charles unwaveringly. 'Carter Ryking was killed  
yesterday...'  
  
 'He *died* yesterday, he was not killed.'  
  
 'Forgive me a little paranoia Storm, but I have every reason to suspect  
that he was murdered. And I believe I may be a target as well.' said  
Charles.  
  
 'Then you know more than you are willing to tell me.'   
  
 He stared out over the grounds again. 'Be silent.'he told her. 'I must  
conduct a psi scan of the entire area.'   
  
 - - - -   
  
 Archangel hovered near the ceiling of the danger room as if he were  
listening out for some distant sound. Around him was the wreckage  
of a bombed out Shield Helicarrier, or rather an amazing simulation.  
Beneath him were torn bodies, Shield agents ripped to shreds or incinerated  
by fire. Some still lived, just, and reached out their arms for help,  
their mouths wide open in screams. But none of them moved. In fact  
only one thing moved on the ground, and all he was doing was tapping   
his right foot. About two hundred times a second.  
  
 'May we continue?' asked Quicksilver grumpily. 'Life moves slowly  
enough as it is without you putting it on pause.'  
  
 'Shhhh.' said Archangel. 'And stop tapping.'  
  
 Quicksilver carried on tapping. 'If she was going to contact you again  
she would have done so by now.' claimed Quicksilver.   
  
 Archangel descended. 'I'm leaving. Computer, terminate exercise.'  
  
 'It can't be that important.' claimed Pietro. 'Neither of us could make  
out the message with any clarity. It was probably the psi equivalent  
of talking in one's sleep.'   
  
 'She wasn't asleep.' argued Warren looking around him at the still  
present, still frozen Helicarrier disaster. 'She woke up when I did.   
Someone must have muffled the message somehow. Computer,   
terminate exercise *now*.' Still no response.  
  
 'Hmm.' said Quicksilver. 'All right, I admit it would seem something  
is wrong here. Can you locate the door without ending the exercise?'  
  
 Archangel looked around for anything that could be a clue. Then the  
control window appeared. There was someone in there. A rather  
ordinary looking asian man with brown hair. 'I'm sorry.' he announced  
with the aid of a booming tannoy. 'Somehow the controls seem to  
have become a little... scrambled.' Archangel flew up and unleashed  
a spray of feather blades at the window. It shattered. Not the window,  
but the image. Then the scene about them unfroze, the screams   
returned and the flames leapt up around them. The shell of the helicarrier  
began to buckle and collapse, the walls caving in about their heads.  
Then the sound of loud, booming footsteps. Archangel spun around   
to face the figure emerging from the fire. He let out a roar of anger   
and rained his paralysing blades into the figure of Apocalypse.  
  
 The illusion melted away to reveal a metal box of a room, no   
Helicarrier, no carnage, no Apocalypse. Just Quicksilver stuck with   
about fifteen blades in his torso. Then Archangel felt a hand clasp   
onto his head, a hand gloved in dark blue, and he fell unconscious   
to the ground.  
  
 - - - -   
     
 'I can't locate Warren, Quicksilver or Gambit.' claimed Charles.  
  
 'Warren and Pietro should be in the Danger Room.' replied  
Storm. 'If you cannot reach them then something must be wrong.  
What of Sam?'  
  
 'He is waking up just now.' claimed Charles.   
  
 - - - -  
  
 Sure enough, with a telepathic prod Sam Guthrie was stirring in  
his bed. He should have known better than to drink with Wolverine.  
More experienced drinkers than he had tried and failed to keep up.  
Now his brain was dancing a tango with his stomach, and Sam was  
trying his hardest not to die. He raised his head a little too quickly  
and something melted in his skull.  
  
 'Sweet Jesus.' mumbled Sam as he lowered his head again.  
  
 *Sam you must get up.* insisted Xavier. *The mansion is under  
attack from Mr Sinister. This is not a drill.*  
  
 'Ah'm dyin'.' claimed Sam. Still, he very slowly propped himself up  
on his elbows and tried to shuffle his legs out from under the bed  
covers. He turned on the bedside light, not yet ready to face drawing  
the curtains, and then noticed a woman in his room. For a moment   
he thought she was some kind of unmemorable last fling he'd had  
in reaction to the daunting prospect of life commited to Tabitha Smith   
and child. Then he realised she was a supervillain. Around about  
the time the world spun out of control.   
  
 The Marauder known as Vertigo is trouble enough for a sober man.  
With Sam's hangover he was easy prey. He threw up, fell over, then  
got run through with a harpoon.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Charles Xavier had just felt one of his students die. It was not a comforting   
experience. 'Charles.' snapped Storm. 'What's wrong? You look pale.'  
  
 'It seems... it would seem they just mortally injurerd Cannonball.' said Charles.   
'Cable claimed he was an immortal. An External. Perhaps he was wrong.  
Dear God Ororo, what if he was wrong? What if Sam is about to die?'  
  
 Storm rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Charles, we have to go downstairs,  
try to regroup with Hank, Warren and Pietro. We will do no good here.  
Besides, whoever just attacked Sam will get here in a matter of seconds,   
and we cannot risk an attempt to rescue Sam, we must not walk into that trap.'  
Arming herself for battle, Storm generated a ball of crackling white energy in   
her hand. 'Come Charles, if you truly are the target of this seige, you are   
too easy a target here.'  
  
 - - - -    
  
 Hank McCoy stood in the room which served as the hub of the mansion's  
security and communications systems, desperately trying to do something  
to repair it. Someone had destroyed it with a series of small, controlled   
explosions. And the charred remains of one playing card remained  
jammed beneath a dead monitor. Ace of diamonds.  
  
 'Le Beau, you are a dead man.' muttered Beast. *Charles, can you  
hear my thoughts? Gambit has betrayed us. Bishop was right about  
him from the beginning. Mansion security is breached, and we can  
have no idea how many...*  
  
 'Broken something?' asked the voice of Henry McCoy. 'I always  
find a good swift kick will do the trick every time.'  
  
 'Who in God's name...' began Hank as he turned to face his mirror  
self.  
  
 'Henry McCoy, one time servant of Apocalypse.' grinned the Dark   
Beast. 'You can call me Skippy if it makes you feel better.'  
  
 Hank at once realised the futility of attacking this man, himself, who  
appeared to be larger, fiercer, and more bloodthirsty than he could ever  
be. Hank leapt to one side, dodging the Dark Beast, and made it through   
the door and out towards the infirmary, his enemy close behind him. He   
skidded into the infirmary and found Gambit watching over the body of   
Jean Grey.  
  
 'You bastard!' screamed Beast as he threw himself through the air,  
catching Gambit off his guard and rolling him to the ground. As he  
pounded into him with his fists, his fur matting with blood, Gambit  
made no attempt to defend himself. Beast stopped just short of  
murder, and stared aghast at the results of his own brutality.  
  
 'You gon' finish the job?' whispered Gambit.  
  
 Just then Beast was struck full on in the back with a high intensity  
energy blast. His body burst into flames and he rolled to try and  
stamp them out. 'Nearly, my brother.' sneered the Dark Beast  
with his weapon still aimed at Hank. 'You nearly became me. But  
you didn't go far enough. This is how far you should have gone.'  
With that, he fired again. And again. And again.  
  
 - - - -   
  
 Bishop raced to the stairs even as Charles and Storm descended,  
bouyed on a gentle updraft, surrounded by an orb of electricity.  
'There has been no further sign of Wolverine or Psylocke.' claimed  
Bishop. 'Nor have I heard anything from the basement levels. We  
appear to be alone. Sinister himself has yet to appear.'  
  
 'Sam has been defeated, we must assume the same of Archangel,  
Quicksilver and even Beast. They all yet live, I'm certain of that, but  
I cannot say for how long.' claimed Charles.  
  
 'And Gambit?' asked Bishop. 'What of him? Have you made contact?'  
  
 'Gambit has betrayed us.' explained Charles. If Bishop felt any sense  
of victory from that discovery, any sense of vindication, his face did  
not betray it. As ever he remained a man to whom the job was far more  
important than the glory.   
  
 'We must summon help.' claimed Bishop. 'The other X-Men, X-Force,  
X-Factor, the Fantastic Four... but they will all take some time to arrive. In  
the meantime we need to find a secure place where we can evade capture.'  
  
 'No such place.' announced Harpoon as he stood at the top of the   
staircase. A lance of steel shot from his hand, transmuting to energy in  
the air, but was absorbed by Storm's shield, and returned at greater  
force, striking Harpoon down.  
  
 'If we are to move, let us do so now.' said Storm, briefly opening up  
her shield to include Bishop. 'The Blackbird?'  
  
 'I'd stay indoors if I were you.' said Sabretooth as he appeared in the   
door. 'Never know who you might run into outside. The broad an' the   
runt met with a little ambush in the form of Holocaust. They ain't comin'   
back.'  
  
 Bishop aimed his gun and fired. The plasma energy struck a forcefield  
and left only a shimmering ripple in the air. Then there was another ripple.  
Unfolding from nowhere, a spray of black and red ribbons cascading and  
separating, revealing the man beneath. Sinister had arrived.  
  
 'Stalemate.' he claimed as he stepped in front of Sabretooth. 'You cannot   
harm me, and I cannot reach you. After all, Storm's ball of lightning will protect   
you from any number of physical attacks, and no man is better protected from   
mental attacks than Charles Xavier. Whatever am I to do?'  
  
 'What have you come here for?' asked Storm. 'Why have you attacked  
us?'  
  
 'Not my decision.' said Sinister innocently. 'I only come representing  
another. He who I have long wished dead. The man for whom Onslaught  
began, the man against whom it rallied, the man by whom it was all but   
destroyed. And that which survived his first purge will not survive  
this one.'  
  
 'Onslaught?' questioned Bishop. 'The same word Juggernaut used  
when he fell to earth in New Jersey. He claimed a being called Onslaught   
attacked him.'  
  
 'The poor man was confused.' claimed Sinister. 'Onslaught died many   
years ago. Just as Xavier must die today.'  
  
 'But as you say Sinister, we are at stalemate here.' boasted Charles.  
'Yet one of us must make a move. You speak of the man you wish  
to see dead, who is forcing your hand. Perhaps it would be wiser not  
to bend to his will. Perhaps you should let the X-Men aid you in his  
downfall. That is, after all, why they exist.'  
  
 'No, Xavier.' smiled Sinister. 'I don't think I need you. You and yours  
are a hindrance to me. Besides, if you had been willing to stoop so  
low before now perhaps you would have known as well as I do that even  
a stalemate can be broken. Bishop, dear fellow, remember who you  
are.'  
  
 Only for a moment was Bishop confused, then the confusion gave way  
to pain. He screamed as his mind caved in. Suddenly he remembered  
it all, another life in a world controlled by Apocalypse. And then that  
was all he could remember, and the life that he led now became a  
phantom. And then at the hands of the master manipulator it was all   
twisted again. The memories Sinister had implanted in Genosha rose  
to the fore, and it was no longer Apocalypse that ruled his world, it was  
another, a man who otherwise had no role to play. An evil man. Truth,  
lies, reality, dreams, it all fell apart and came back together in the  
mould dictated by Sinister himself. In one world Apocalypse and Magneto  
had been mortal enemies. In another world it was Magneto and Xavier.  
All it took was a simple twist...  
  
 'Remember the truth Bishop.' said Sinister. 'Do what you were born  
to do. Save the world. Destroy Xavier.'  
  
 And with a snap the screams had stopped. Bishop turned his tearful  
face up to look to Storm. His eyes were black and hollow, the eyes of  
a soulless man. 'Goddess no!' gasped Storm. The gun turned and  
pressed into the head of Charles Xavier. It was only a moment. In  
one sharp moment Charles Xavier tried to save Bishop. He tried to  
search his mind, protect it, rebuild whatever Sinister had destroyed.  
That same moment Storm tried to react. But she hadn't the power to  
stop a gun at zero range, hadn't the speed or strength to push Bishop  
aside, hadn't the force of will to do what *had* to be done to stop  
him. To kill him.   
  
 Charles Xavier hadn't the time to scream.  
  
 - - - - - - - - - -  
Continued in X-Men #55  
 - - - - - - - - - -  
  
  
  
  



	34. X-Men #55: Traitor's Gate

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group using characters belonging to  
Marvel Entertainments and DC Comics. We do not have their permission to use  
these characters.  
  
\----  
X-Men #55  
Traitor's Gate Part Two  
"Three, Four, Knock At The Door."  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
Edited by Marysia  
\----  
  
     Jack Wyndham sat at a barstool in Harry's and lit up a cigarette. It  
was the slump between lunch and the early evening rush, and his shift was  
nearly over, so it was a perfect opportunity to relax on the other side of  
the bar. A few moments of tranquillity, an oasis in the daily routine.  
  
     Inhale.  
       
     Indulge.  
  
     Relax.  
  
     Exhale.  
  
     Smile.  
  
     'Excuse me, can I get a drink?'  
  
     Frown. Get back behind the bar and grind on.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Asteroid M, testament to the notion that what goes up must come down.  
Today it's still up, and today Alex Summers is on monitoring duty. Or  
reading a book as it's more commonly known. Sometimes a message actually  
comes through, but not often enough to disrupt the narrative flow. Today  
Alex was on chapter 7 when he heard the beeps. He reached out to flick a  
switch and a monitor very nearly flickered into life before surrendering to  
a snowstorm.  
  
     'Hello?' said a crackled voice. It sounded a lot like Henry McCoy.  
  
     'Hank?' replied Alex. 'I'm not getting a good transmission here, is  
there something wrong?'  
  
     'Alex! It seems like a long time since I last heard your voice,' said  
Henry. 'The Mansion has been attacked, our communications systems were  
damaged.'   
  
     'Christ Hank, what happened? Is everyone okay?'  
  
     'It was the Marauders. Don't worry,  we dealt with them with the usual  
flare and skill,' claimed Henry. 'Only Charles was injured. A mild blow to  
the head, he's no worse for that.'  
  
     'Thank God,' said Alex. 'So why the call?'  
  
     'Charles wants to call a meeting of all the X-Men,' Henry explained.  
'He feels in light of this attack that the X-Men need to take a more  
proactive stance. How soon can you be here?'  
  
     'With a Phoenix fuelled Blackbird? In minutes if you like.'  
  
     'Good, we'll see you soon.'  
  
     'Magneto is too weak to leave his bed...'  
  
     'That's good.'  
  
     'Good?'  
  
     'That he's not straining himself,' said Henry quickly. 'Goodbye Alex.'  
Then the connection was dead.  
  
     Beneath the Mansion the Dark Beast turned away from the communications  
array with a broad grin. 'A job well done, McCoy,' claimed Sinister.  
  
     'Thank you,' said Henry. 'Now would you mind telling me *why* I did  
that? There are still two X-Men on the loose out there, and we're luring  
more of them down here. Charles Xavier is dead, we've done what we had to  
do.'  
  
     'Apocalypse doesn't agree. All the X-Men are to be tested,' he  
explained. 'That's the polite way of saying killed.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Ororo Munroe was flying away. She had started to flee when Charles  
Xavier's head had split open. No. First she had dropped her energy field.  
There was blood everywhere. She'd taken his body in her arms, cradled that  
warm corpse against herself, then realised she was vulnerable, she was  
next. She had hit Bishop with as much energy as she could generate, and  
maybe he could absorb it all, or maybe it had killed him, she didn't wait  
to see. She had vaulted from the staircase and started to run, down to the  
basement, to a elevator shaft, and further down, into the tunnels, taking  
to the air in close darkness, afraid as much of the walls around her and  
the shadows before her as she was of whatever was behind her.  
  
     'Hey sweetums,' called a voice. She stopped and turned, two feet  
splashing through the shallow water far behind her. The shadow of  
Sabretooth raced in pursuit. Storm shut her eyes for a moment to offer a  
second of prayer to her goddess, then a ribbon of lightning sprang from her  
fingers and bounced across the tunnel walls. There was no sign of him.  
Where was he? Closer than before? Further away?  
  
     She flew on, fast as she could, towards the tunnels she hated with all  
her soul, where she had fought Callisto for her life and that of her  
friends, and won leadership of the Morlocks. Where she had taken the life  
of the leader of Gene Nation, the girl she had failed, Marrow. There were  
only bad memories to be found there, and yet she had to fly towards them.  
He was there, somewhere coming after her. She had to keep going, she had to  
get away. There was no going back.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Wolverine stirred into consciousness. He could smell pork, or so he  
thought, though it only took a moment for the pain to hit him again. His  
body was seared and blistered thanks to the energy blasts of the monster  
Holocaust. He was bound to a massive tree with heavy iron chains, unable to  
move.  
  
     'Ohgood,' grinned the pus filled ball of rancid skin before him. 'The  
pain can beginagain. Thisisfun.' The creature held a long metal spike in  
one hand and a hammer in the other. He placed the spike tip against  
Wolverine's gut, swung back the hammer and struck.  
  
     As Logan screamed his agonized eyes spotted movement in the trees. Her  
soft violet eyes looked down at him, and he heard her gentle voice. '<I  
will come back for you Logan,' she promised. '<Now, sleep.>' At once he  
returned to unconsciousness, and could no more feel the pain.  
  
     'Bastard,' muttered Sugarman. 'Yougot no stamina.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
     It was a wonder to see, that bird of fire. Today it was merely  
speeding along the flight from space to Earth of the Red team's Blackbird,  
but as it touched down on the lawns in front of the Mansion, Nathaniel  
Essex watched in awe from a shadowed room on the upper floor. The phantasm  
flames licked along the smooth metallic wings, the shrill scream face faded  
from around the cockpit, and as the last whispering traces of this  
manifestation of the Phoenix Force danced around the vessel, the woman  
herself emerged.  
  
     'Be careful Rachel,' ordered Cyclops as he followed her out, Havok  
behind. 'They could still be around here somewhere. Scanner, leave your  
physical body in the Blackbird and send your astral self out to search the  
grounds, just in case.'  
  
     'I'm sure Charles or Storm would have thought of that already,'  
claimed Alex.  
  
     'It doesn't hurt to be safe,' argued Scott. As Scanner's ghostly  
presence drifted out towards the trees the other three X-Men headed for the  
Mansion. Rachel knocked three times on the door. 'There's something wrong,'  
said Scott suddenly. 'Why didn't they come out to meet us? They can't have  
failed to see us land.'  
  
     'And there's a lot of static on the astral plane,' added Rachel.  
'You're right, there's definitely something wrong.'  
  
     On the other side of the door Holocaust was preparing to shoot them  
all down with his focused microwave energy. He thought he knew why Sinister  
had chosen him for this task; only he had the power to defeat the Phoenix.  
He was almost right. He didn't know Sinister had secretly placed an  
explosive device to the back of his armour. Rachel Summers was struck down  
by the blast, both the kinetic force of the explosion and the powerful  
psionic wave of Holocaust's very being which swept over her with a scream.  
She tried to absorb the brunt of the explosion to save Alex and Scott, but  
almost at the cost of her own life. As the men got back on their feet the  
pure energy form of Holocaust was struggling to manifest itself around  
them.  
  
     'Is she alive?' asked Alex as Scott went to Rachel's side.  
  
     'Hopefully not,' said Sinister in the doorway. 'Both of the women who  
call themselves Phoenix must die today.'   
  
     'Jean!' gasped Scott. Sinister disappeared and Scott ran forward  
through the bomb blasted threshold into the building, driven by anguish and  
fear.  
  
     'Scott!' called Alex after him. 'You can't leave Rachel here. Come  
back, don't go in there alone.' Scott was already gone. Alex lifted Rachel  
into his arms and headed back to the Blackbird as quickly as possible.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Scanner drifted through the grounds, through a tree trunk, and  
found... a metal spike in her belly. It couldn't harm her of course. She  
was an anomaly, an astral presence on the physical plane. She was  
intangible and, for the moment, invisible, but not to other telepaths.  
  
     'Scanner!' called a voice. Psylocke stepped out from the foliage, her  
psychic knife charged, her eyes flitting about guardedly. 'Come with me.'  
Scanner floated on, then turned to face Wolverine's beaten and bloody body.  
  
     'Shouldn't we help him?' she asked.  
  
     'If you can tell me how to cut through that chain and rip a twelve  
inch spike out of flesh and wood I'll do it,' replied Psylocke. 'Otherwise  
this Sugarman creature might come back, and I don't want to be here if he  
does.' Psylocke turned and was gone. Scanner lingered a moment, casting no  
shadow in the midday sun, alone but for the rustle of slow wind across the  
treetops and the occasional rattling breath of a man otherwise a corpse.  
Then she moved after Psylocke, following her down to the edge of the lake.  
  
     'What happened?' asked Scanner. 'We got a message saying that  
everything was fine, the Marauders had been fought off.'  
  
     'You were misled,' stated Psylocke. 'Whoever has attacked us is still  
in there, and I don't know who's dead or who's alive, a psionic fog  
surrounds the mansion and I can't penetrate it. I need to know what's going  
on in there before I act. Your astral presence is stronger than mine, you  
can go in and find out what's happening.'  
  
     'If there's a strong telepath in there they could find me, hurt me,'  
said Scanner nervously.  
  
     'Then stay hidden,' replied Psylocke. 'Scott is in there already, he's  
in danger. You're an X-Man, you have an obligation to your team-mates.'  
  
     'I thought I was protecting a world that hates an' fears me,' muttered  
Scanner. 'I didn' know I was slitting my own throat.'  
  
 - - - -   
  
     She stopped, fell against a curved stone wall and caught her breath.  
She couldn't hear him any more, his voice or his feet. Storm was alone  
again. The question now was what to do next? Get out of the tunnels. But  
where then, the Mansion or the town? Where was she now, which was closer?  
She didn't know which direction to take.  
  
     She stumbled on a few steps and felt a rush of air, gentle, blow down  
onto her. Above her was a vertical shaft, the surface somewhere out of  
reach. How far? In the shadows she couldn't tell. All it would take was a  
gust of wind to carry her up, slowly so as not to crash into anything,  
lighting her way with an energy orb. First she checked around her once  
more, in case he was nearby. She thought she saw something, far off to the  
left, shadow and light changing places.  
  
     'Creed?' she whispered.   
  
     Then there was movement. He came from above, from the shaft. A clawed  
hand grabbed her white hair, a foot slammed hard into her back and dropped  
her into the shallow water. She coughed, gasped for air, grey water filling  
her nose, her throat, her ears so she couldn't hear his dirty taunts. She  
couldn't move, he was pinning her down. She could barely breathe,  
impossible to concentrate.  
  
     Her eyes were closing and a single claw was scratching across her  
neck. She was crying, drowning, and he was laughing at her. She would die  
here, in a few inches of water, unable to summon her powers, unable to  
summon a wind that...  
  
     A wind that blew up the tunnel, fast and furious, blasting around her,  
around her attacker, then rushing up the shaft with incredible force,  
knocking clear a manhole cover far above them, casting sunlight dimly upon  
them, leaving a lingering breeze around them.  
  
     'Nice try.' he sneered.  
  
     A lingering breeze chilling his skin, rippling the water, building.  
Creed crouched over his prey, holding her down with his feet, eyes glancing  
around as the wind blew again. Then the water was rising, whipping up in  
lashes and squorls, the whistling growing more intense, the air growing  
damp as moisture was sucked up along the shaft. Then, all at once, the  
water funnelled. It surrounded him, a wall of twisting up to the surface,  
unbalancing him and then carrying him. He left the tunnel with a yell, torn  
through the spout, crashed against the walls, thrown out into the afternoon  
sky with a terrific scream of water. He landed without grace or mercy in a  
Westchester street.  
  
     Underneath, Storm still lay undisturbed in the tunnel, more sewer  
water seeping in to replace that which had been cast out. She opened her  
eyes, turned over onto her back, and coughed up a lungful of muck. Then she  
had to get back on her feet, and start running again.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     An astral presence seen by a physical entity appears as if a ghost.  
The physical plane seen by an astral entity appears as if carved in  
crystal. To Scanner the Mansion was scratched, cracked crystal, hidden by a  
veil. She had to press on, through the veil, even if it took all her  
strength to pass that thin barrier..  
  
     Then she screamed as a darkness clutched her, a blurry scratch of red,  
with hollow eyes and awesome power. She had met this entity before, on  
Avalon when he had destroyed her fellow Acolyte, Rusty Collins.  Holocaust  
had been sacrificed to the cause, so that Sinister could eliminate Rachel  
Summers from the game. Holocaust did not die that easily, but he was a  
disembodied voice now, trapped in a psionic haze designed not for him but  
for another man. All he could do now was struggle and snap out, like a  
catfish caught in a net.  
  
     Scanner was being ripped apart by his frenzy. Her astral self was her  
truth, her life, and she was being torn to pieces. Then a knife, a psychic  
katana, sliced through them both. In that instant they both fell,  
dissolved, but Scanner was stronger, she came back.  
  
     The astral projection of Psylocke lowered her blade, bowed, then was  
gone. Scanner pushed on through the haze, into the Mansion wall. Before her  
was the main staircase. And he was there, a man she despised, or rather his  
ghost, frozen by the fog, pleading with her. So she reached out her hand to  
a man whom she hated and feared.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Two women's bodies lay in the passenger seats of the Blackbird, Rachel  
and Marie. Alex was in the pilot's seat trying to start the plane, so he  
could fly to a safe distance and call for help. It wasn't happening.  
  
     'Shit.' he cursed. He glanced across the controls. The fuel gauge.  
Empty. He raced outside to find huge slashes across the underside of the  
plane, a pool of oil spreading into the grass. No-one else around. He  
bolted inside again. There was another Blackbird, if he could get to that  
one perhaps he would have better luck. He took Rachel in his arms again and  
carried her outside to a safe distance from the oil. He left her on the  
ground and went back for Scanner.  
  
     She was standing in the hatchway.  
  
     'Scanner!' he shouted. 'Come here, we have to move!'  
  
     'I'm not Scanner,' she replied. 'Alex, this is Professor Xavier.  
They've killed me Alex!'  
  
     Alex stood open mouthed. His teacher, the greatest man he had ever  
known, was dead, and his spirit had possessed the body of his young  
team-mate. Before he could do or say anything he spotted a figure racing  
under the plane. A tiny hobgoblin man. But he grew, inflating like a  
balloon of foetid skin. Sugarman. He lit a match and smiled.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     Scott stood in the basement infirmary. The lights were off and there  
was nobody home. Or rather, one body, under a blanket. He had met no  
opposition all the way here. Now, making those last steps across the room,  
he saw Sinister in the dark.  
  
     'It's not her Scott,' said Essex.  
  
     'Who is it?' asked Scott.  
  
     'Please,' replied Essex, 'Be my guest.'  
  
     Scott walked on and threw back the sheet. Before him, half a face.  
Mentor and father, Charles Xavier, was dead.  
  
 - - - -   
  
     The match fell. Alex stared into the eyes of Xavier in the body of  
Marie Watson, nothing either one could do. The oil caught on, the Blackbird  
was consumed by the explosion. Both Sugarman and Scanner were caught in the  
blast. Alex was hit by the cascading flames and fell to the ground. He  
rolled to kill the flames on his own body, then looked up through a squint  
at the fire and remains.  
  
     Outside the mansion one brother expressed his grief. Inside the other  
brother did the same. As Scott struck out at Sinister in vain with an optic  
blast, Alex faced across the lawn to the Mansion and tore it down with a  
massive plume of plasma energy. It fell in on itself, unable to withstand  
the strain. The same was true of Alex, who passed out.  
  
 - - - - - - -  
Continued In Uncanny X-Men #336: "Alex? Cable? Anyone?!"  
 - - - - - - -  
  
  
  
  



	35. Uncanny X-Men #336: Traitor's Gate

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group using characters belonging   
to Marvel Entertainments. We do not have their permission to use these   
characters. This is the first ever posting of this new X-Writers issue.   
  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
The X-Writers Present: Uncanny X-Men #336  
Traitor's Gate: Part 3 - "Five, Six, Pick Up Sticks."  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
    The middle of the afternoon, Jack Wyndham sat in his kitchen  
watching the television and eating dry breakfast cereal out of the box.  
There was a paperback in front of him, his girlfriend's copy of Henry V.   
She was in the local production, playing the king himself.  The idea had   
thrown him, a woman playing the king, but she had assured him that  
in Shakespeare it was quite normal nowadays to cast women as men  
because good female roles were so scarce.  Even Hamlet was often  
played by a woman, so why not Henry V?  Quite normal.  
  
    He picked it up and began to read the marked speech in  
Act II, Scene III.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    It was a psionic maelstrom at the mansion.  Sinister had  
erected a field of haze to prevent Charles Xavier from escaping  
death, but Xavier's fading presence had breached the field via the   
channel between Scanner's astral projection and her physical body.    
With the destruction of that body he had been flung back into the storm,  
weaker than before.  The truth he had to face was that he had died.    
He could not come back.  His astral self was fading fast.  But if he  
would die, his dream would not.  His X-Men would not.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Scott Summers cried over the body of his fallen teacher.  
  
    'Please don't take it personally Scott,'  hissed Sinister as  
he brushed himself off.  'It wasn't my decision to kill him.  I was over  
a barrel.'  
  
    'What are you talking about?'  asked Scott angrily.  
  
    'I didn't *want* to kill him.  His last words to me were the  
offer of a deal.  How sweet a deal that would have been.  Sadly his  
offer came too late.  I will have to find some other way to destroy the  
ancient foe.'  
  
    'You mean Apocalypse?'  
  
    'Clever boy.'  
  
    'What does he have to do with Xavier?'  
  
    'Oh now Scott, surely you don't expect me to stand here spilling   
forth the details of the master plan, filling in all the gaps for  
your inept little mind to follow?  What happens then?  I prolong your   
existence long enough for some phantom cavalry to arrive, they  
save you, I am cast into the bottomless pit, and you all live happily   
ever after?  I don't think so.'  
  
    There was a knocking.  A stick against the door frame.  The  
bloody faced, hobbling traitor Remy LeBeau had joined them.  
  
    'If dere is no cavalry, what's the harm?'  suggested Gambit.    
'I tink I've earned myself the full story.  I tink I deserve to know who  
you are, who I was working for all de years gone by.'  
  
    Scott stared at him.  'You dirty little bastard,'  he grimaced.   
'What do you mean working for him?  What have you done for him?'  
  
    'Only the occasional errand Scott,'  explained Sinister.  
'Arranging a culling here, betraying a colleague there.'  
  
    'I didn' know it would be no culling!'  insisted Gambit.  
  
    'No, you just tracked those people down because you  
thought I wanted them for experiments,'  said Sinister.  'Eminently  
more respectable.  You deserve no answers from me, LeBeau.  Even   
if you did, when was the last time you got what you deserved?'  
  
    'We're both of us dead men anyway,'  complained LeBeau.  
'You know there's no cavalry coming.  Humour us.  Give us some  
answers.'  
  
    Sinister smiled.  'And where would I begin?  After all,  
there are so many questions.'  
  
    'Begin with here,'  insisted Scott.  'Begin with today,  
and this house, and the Professor.'  
  
    'Begin with Rogue,'  argued Gambit.  'Where is she?'  
  
    'Personally I always find it much more practical to  
begin at the beginning,'  claimed Sinister.  'Wouldn't you agree?  
The most simple facts:  I am Nathaniel Essex.  I am a man who  
calls himself mutant for I was mutated by my own hand and kept  
alive by the poisonous energies of Apocalypse, my creator.  After  
God, of course.  I served him for many long years, and together  
we planned to conquer mankind.  A simple, honest dream.  He told  
me I was one of the strong, and I believed him, so together we  
created Onslaught.'  
  
    'De guy that hit Juggernaut to New Jersey?'  asked   
Gambit.  
  
    'I know nothing about that,'  claimed Sinister.  'Onslaught  
was not a man.  Onslaught was an organization.  A cancer on the  
world, working towards it's downfall so that we could rise to the top.    
Though we knew, the others and I, that if we were successful, we  
would never get to enjoy our success.  Onslaught was the puppet  
of Apocalypse.  So, taking to heart the words of a long dead man,  
my colleagues and I decided we had no choice but to destroy him.    
The folly, the vanity of megalomania.  Advice to you both, should the  
cavalry arrive:  never trust a megalomaniac.  They really are the   
most tiresome of people.'  Sinister paused.  'I really don't know why   
I should waste my time telling you this.  You, Scott, should be dead.    
And you have duties still to perform, Gambit.  I want you to go through   
the wreckage of the mansion, see what can be salvaged of Xavier's   
records.'  
  
    'You can't stop now.'  argued Cyclops.  'After all the  
hell you've put my family through I should at least be told *why*  
before I die.'  
  
    Sinister viewed him with tired eyes.  'Fine.  Then I shall  
grant you your sad last request.  Megalomania, as I say, can turn  
brother against brother and father against son, and we, the elite  
of Onslaught, were not even related, so you can imagine how  
troublesome things might become.  Between us, we were to devise   
weapons.  Powerhouses of physical, mental, and even mystical  
energy.  Of course Apocalypse had us doing all this already, but  
these new weapons were to be used against him, not for him.  I  
had my own project in development already.  Something I had  
been working on for quite some time.  Generations, you might say.'  
  
    'My family,'  whispered Scott.  'My son.  The chosen one.  
Born to destroy Apocalypse.'  
  
    'Quite.  But young Nathan  -  a delightful name by the way,  
whatever made you think of it?  -  was not alone.  He was the best of  
them, but there were more.  Indeed, by the time that boy was born  
Onslaught was long gone.  Apocalypse uncovered our betrayal  
before any of the projects were even close to fruition.  He was very  
lenient in his punishment.  Considering.  He destroyed all of our work  
in a series of carefully planned accidents, such as Almagordo.'  
  
    'Almagordo?  But that's where Charles' father worked with  
Kurt Marko and Alexander Ryking.'  
  
    'The same.  Each one a father to a weapon, much as you  
are yourself. Each one a key figure in Onslaught.  Apocalypse let Marko   
and Ryking live, but it was Xavier who was to be made an example to the   
others and destroyed.  What Apocalypse did not know was that our most   
important work survived the purge.  Their progeny.  Two were victims to   
the experimentation enforced upon their mothers before their births.    
The third was treated somewhat differently.  All three lived on.  But no   
more. Yesterday, he had us kill Carter Ryking.  Today, we murdered   
Charles Xavier.  Apocalypse is on the move, his plans are unfolding   
across the globe, and now he understands the power of the children he   
has ordered their deaths.  I can do nothing but obey.'  
  
    'Or die,'  added Gambit.  
  
    'A familiar choice, isn't it, LeBeau?'  
  
    'I tink we both chose badly.'  
  
    'You may be right,'  agreed Sinister.  'None the less, it's  
your turn now, Summers.  You, Rachel, Alex, Jean...  no, sorry, not   
Rachel.  Though I'm sure we'll deal with her anyway.  And Cable, of  
course, if we can find him.  The entire Summers clan.  And when this  
is over I shall simply have to find another way of defeating   
Apocalypse.'  
  
    'Onslaught?'  suggested Gambit with a defiant glare.  
  
    'Is gone,'  insisted Sinister pointedly.  
  
    'And Gambit?'  asked Cyclops.  'Is he a creation of Onslaught   
as well?'  
  
    'LeBeau?  Oh God, I hope not.  I thought we were craftsmen,  
not carpenters,'  said Sinister with the faintest trace of laughter.  
  
    'An' Rogue?'  added Gambit.  'You answer me about Rogue.'  
  
    'If I keep answering questions we shall be here all day,'   
muttered Sinister.  'Besides, you're not going to die LeBeau;  there's  
a limit to how much I can let you know.'  
  
    'Oh, he'll die, alright,'  argued Cyclops.  'I'll take his   
treacherous little head off his shoulders.'  
  
    'Go ahead,'  spat Gambit.  'Ain't got nothing to lose but my   
looks.'   
  
    A hand, finger resting on a trigger, rose behind Gambit's  
shoulder.  The gun was aimed directly at Cyclops.  
  
    'Thank you Bishop,'  said Sinister.  'Fire at will.'  
  
    An energy pulse shot past Gambit's head and struck Cyclops  
in the chest, throwing him back into the body behind him.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    In the Danger Room, the bodies lay.  Hank McCoy, burnt and   
singed;  Pietro Maximoff, bleeding from deep slashes;  Warren   
Worthington III, wings pinned to the ground;  Rachel Summers, scarred  
by an explosion.  
  
    'Is this it?'  asked the Dark Beast as he entered with Sam  
Guthrie slung over his shoulder.  He lifted him off and casually threw  
him to the side where he hit a wall with an ominous crack.  'I thought  
there were more of them than this.'  
  
    'Scanner was destroyed,'  explained a pretty young lady  
wielding a powered up cattle prod;  Melissa Sweetly.  'Sugarman  
blew her up.  Blew himself up too, the stupid fat cretin.'  
  
    'So where is he now?'  asked Beast.  
  
    'Dragging Wolverine over.  Then he has to join the hunt  
for Psylocke and Havok.  So, the only one missing is the other  
redhead, and she's a vegetable anyway, so I doubt she's run away.'  
  
    'Sinister must have her locked up somewhere,'  explained  
Dark Beast.  'She's carrying the child of Magneto.  That'll be one child   
that won't ever worry about bullying in the playground.'  
  
    'With parents like his, he'll be the bully.'  said Melissa.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Charles Xavier, a ghost trying to hold on to reality, slowly  
forgetting all of who he was, and who he dreamed of being, echoed   
through the haze, drifting from place to place without any sense of  
where or why.  Then he entered the room where she, his first student,  
now lay.  His beautiful Jean, desecrated by one of his oldest   
friends, destroyed by one of his oldest foes.  The only spark of life   
left in her was the child, he knew.  He had plunged into her mind and   
searched for any last lingering trace, but he couldn't bring her back.    
Not if there was nothing left.  
  
    He was a ghost, a pure astral being slowly fading.  Nothing  
hindered him now, not as it had when he'd had a physical form to  
cling on to.  He could enter this empty shell, deeper than before, and  
though he no longer had the strength to animate another's body, perhaps  
he could salvage *something* of her mind.  This was his last chance.  
  
    This disparate cloud, this dead psyche, entered her braindead  
body.  His final sacrifice.  
  
    But she lay as still as before.  In darkness, a body stripped  
bare by Sinister's hand, and a mind torn apart by a force of even   
greater evil.  No hope was left. She was dead.   
  
 - - - -  
  
    There had been nothing normal about Jean Summers, nor about the  
child that was growing inside her.  Conceived in the battle fields of   
the Savage Land, from the brutal touch of the Shadow King who wanted her   
as his queen, it was a child spawned in the very soul of darkness. The   
father too - the true father, the man whose body the Shadow King had   
taken - was a man most used to shadow. He had changed that now. Though   
his aims were the same as ever, his methods were softening. Whether this   
path would work, he might never know, as he was dying. Magneto had   
Legacy.  
  
    The orbit of his asteroid was fixed, the vessel of his mind was   
not so ordered. He had journeyed long and hard, and it seemed his   
journey had reached it's end. Magneto was going to die. He lay asleep,   
weak and worn, and could not fight with oblivion. His child was to be a   
powerful one. Might it also be an orphan?  
  
 - - - -   
  
    Then... her two eyes opened.  A shiver ran through her body, a   
choking gasp spouted to her lips. Convulsing with the sudden return to   
life, struggling to regain some focus, the Phoenix had risen again.  
  
    Jean stumbled from her bed and touched her own bare flesh,  
fumbling to remove the mask from her mouth and the drip from her  
arm.  Alive.  Incredible.  Her body was weak, how long had she been  
gone?  She half ran, half fell to the nearest wall, and seemed to spend  
forever chasing a light switch.  When she found it she saw she was in  
a store room, the door locked.  It was mostly empty except for... her   
old possessions.  Just a few boxes against the wall, her old clothes,   
her pictures, her collected junk.  Amongst them, folded neatly on top,   
one of her costumes.  She pulled it down and struggled slowly to put it   
on.  
  
    Why?  What was wrong?  Who did she have to fight?  She  
tried to remember, and the memory hit her.  Not her memory.  Bishop   
racing to the staircase where she and Storm were descending in  
a ball of streaming energy.  Bishop's voice claiming 'There has been no  
further sign of Wolverine or Psylocke.  Nor have I heard anything  
from the basement levels.  We appear to be alone.  Sinister himself  
has yet to appear.'  Then her own voice next, but not her voice, just  
her speaking.  And she was Charles Xavier.  'We must assume that   
Cannonball, Archangel, Quicksilver and Beast have been defeated.'   
Bishop again;  'And Gambit?  What of him?  Have you made contact?'  
  
     'Gambit has betrayed us,'  she said, and was shocked at  
her own words.  Betrayed us?  How had he betrayed us?  And she  
remembered that, too.  Mansion security.  He had let the enemy in.  
She broke away from the scene but it drew her back.  She remembered   
Sinister at the door.  She could see Bishop and Storm beside her, and   
all she could think of was how Gambit could dare, could *ever* betray   
them.  And how could they ever have trusted him?  Then the memories   
jarred to a sudden close, a shock of pain plunging her into oblivion.    
She had just relived the Professor's death.  Death.  He was dead.  And   
the X-Men too?   
  
    She slid along the wall towards the door and tried to unlock  
it with her telekinesis.  Nothing happened.  She tried to reach out  
around her with her telepathy, but the whispering had gone, there  
was nothing but silence.  Her powers were dead.  Her memory was   
fractured and her mind too fragile, too unstable.  This last  
reincarnation brought with it great weakness, but still she couldn't   
give up.  She went back to her possessions and searched for something  
to smash the door with.  Instead, she found a brooch, with a long pin,  
and she tried to remember time spent with Storm, learning how to  
pick a lock.  For several minutes she struggled, crying for the   
futility, but finally she won over.  The door was unlocked.  
  
    She drifted into the corridor and, still resting her body on  
the wall, proceeded towards the next door.  Tears ran down her face  
as she struggled to remember more, but it was only coming to her   
in bursts.  Perhaps if she could piece together her memories she could   
also piece together her powers.  But some of it was her, and some of it  
the last embers of Charles Xavier, and some of it the other voices  
she thought she had long ago quelled.  
  
    She reached the communications room.  Further up was  
the infirmary;  perhaps she should go there first?  No, it was more  
important to call for help.  She entered the room and saw the wrecked   
machinery, partially repaired by the Dark Beast.  She looked up at  
the security monitors.  The mansion had been reduced to rubble.    
On one screen, the Sugarman was dragging Wolverine across broken  
masonry towards the subterranean levels.  On another, the Danger  
Room.  Five bodies lying so still.  And in the infirmary another two.  
Charles and Scott in a dark, dead embrace.   
  
    'Oh, God,'  she whispered.   
  
    She sat down shaking and opened up a channel to speak.    
A small camera flickered into life in front of her, and with a low hum  
the microphone began to work.  She took a long breath and spoke.  
  
    'I...  I don't know who to...  Oh, God.  I...  Alex?  Cable?    
Christ, please, just anyone.  This...  this is stupid.  I don't even   
know if this transmission is being received.  It seems...  it looks   
like we were taken totally unawares.  Both teams are...  destroyed...    
and the mansion has been decimated.'  She paused.  What else could   
she remember?  What else did she have to say?  'Mansion security   
has been deactivated from within.  We were betrayed by one of our own.    
Professor Xavier was the first to die.  I...  I'm not sure how.  I think   
I'm the only one left.  My powers are negated.  Oh, Christ.  It's our   
own fault.  We really should never have trusted Gambit, we knew so   
little about...'  
  
    The door slammed open, and Sinister stood glaring at her.  
  
    'You!'  she screamed.  'You may have killed the X-Men, Sinister,  
but the dream will never... '  She was interrupted by a powerful energy   
blast, burning her skin, throwing her to the ground.  
  
    'Die?'  said Sinister.  'No, I'm sure you're right, there will   
always be dreamers.'  He stepped forward and shut down the transmission   
channel.  'You should have stayed in bed, Mrs. Summers.  I really don't   
want to have to kill you.'  
  
    'It's over Sinister.'  screamed Jean.  'They'll all come now.    
X-Force, X-Factor, Excalibur.  You'll never get away with your   
butchery.'  
  
    'Whyever not?'  asked Sinister.  'The message didn't go out.    
I had McCoy fix that in case anyone tried something like this.  Those  
poetic words of yours are recorded for posterity, but by the time anyone  
hears them there will be no X-Men to save.'  
  
    'No,'  whimpered Jean.  'This wasn't supposed to happen. Bishop   
was meant to stop the traitor, it was his cause.'  
  
    'Mrs. Summers, you really don't understand,'  claimed  
Sinister.  He stepped aside and allowed Bishop to enter, Cyclops  
unconscious on his shoulder.  'Bishop *was* the traitor.  *He* shot  
Xavier.  It would have been Gambit originally I suppose, but there  
was a slight change of plan.'  
  
    Jean scrambled to her feet and took Scott's head in her hands,   
lifting his face to hers.  'Scott,'  she whispered.  Bishop did not push   
her away.  Sinister didn't ask him to.  'Scott, wake up,' she implored.  
  
    An unconscious gasp escaped from Scott's lips.  Her  
fingers ran through his hair, and she gently kissed him.  'I love you  
Scott,'  she told him.  He still didn't stir.  She gently let his head   
rest down again and took a step backwards.  She looked at the two men  
blocking her way.  There was something in her hand, her fingers  
on the clasp.  Then she gritted her teeth, lifted her arm and stabbed  
Bishop in his left eye with the brooch pin.  He reeled, dropping Scott  
to the floor.  She leapt over his body and summoned all her strength  
just to run down the corridor towards the Danger Room.  Sinister just  
watched.  
  
    The Danger Room door slid open, and Jean entered.  She  
paused at the sight of the bodies.  Then Dark Beast struck her hard  
on the back of her head and brought her down.  'Thank you McCoy,'  
said Sinister.  'Now, if you could attend to Bishop's eye please?  
And Gambit, you take Ms. Grey back to the store room.  I think I may  
have to snap the poor woman's synapses.  Can't have her coming   
back on us again.'  
  
    'Do we kill them soon?'  asked Melissa.  
  
    'We kill them when I say so,'  replied Sinister.  'I am  
awaiting Apocalypse's command.  He may want to salvage  
one or two of them.'  Sinister returned to the corridor and   
headed for the surface.  
  
    'So we kill them when Apocalypse says so?'  smiled Melissa.   
'Nice to see where the power is.'  
  
    'He's stalling.'  argued Beast.  'He doesn't want all his   
hard work ruined.'  
  
    In the corridor, Gambit stood, leaning on the wall with a   
cigarette in his mouth.  When Sinister was long gone he picked up   
Jean gently in his arms and took her back to the store room, though   
he didn't lock it.  It could have turned out differently, he thought   
to himself.  In truth, he had been lucky.  If he had been the one   
to kill Xavier, it would have been the death of his very soul, and   
if he had been the one to get struck by Storm, then he would not be   
able to walk now.  Instead, because of Bishop, because of Genosha,   
he was alive.  Bruised, cut, bloody, but alive.  Sinister had once   
told him that redemption was impossible for men who sold their souls.    
So be it;  he would not seek redemption.  He would just do what  
was right.  He stubbed out his cigarette with his foot and slipped   
off into the communications room.  Then, he replayed the message.  
  
    'I...  I don't know who to...  Oh, God,'  said the recorded  
voice of Jean Grey.  
  
    Gambit pressed a few buttons and sent the message out.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Alex awoke.  He was alone;  that was often the way.  He took  
in his surroundings;  lying on a couch of a stripped down room,   
pale squares of paint on the walls where paintings and photographs  
had hung.  This was the boathouse, where Jean and Scott had lived.  
  
    'Good, you're awake,'  said Psylocke as she walked in.  
I've been outside.  They're looking for us;  we'll have to make a move  
soon.'  
  
    'What happened?'  asked Havok.  'There was an explosion...  
Oh, God.  Charles...'  
  
    'Is dead according to your memories,'  explained Psylocke.  
'I had to probe your mind, I thought you might die.'  
  
    'Where's Rachel?'  
  
    'I only had time to rescue one of you.  I knew your capabilities  
better, and she's just a child, so I chose you.  She's with the others   
now.  She might be dead, but we had better hope not.  Can you stand?'  
  
    'What are we going to do?'  asked Havok, swinging his  
legs down from the couch.  'We can't save them.  We can't even get  
to them if they're under the mansion, and we don't know how many  
people we've got to face.'  
  
    Psylocke stepped up to his side and squatted down to  
see his face.  She rested a hand on his knee.  'Alex,'  she whispered.  
'We *could* escape.  Maybe.  It would be a risk, but we might do it.    
Abandon our friends, run away.  Or we could go in, try to save them.  
It would also be a risk. But again, we might do it.'  
  
    'You got me to commit suicide before Bets,'  said Havok.  
'You think I'll fall for it twice?'  
  
    Psylocke stood up and headed for the door.  'They attacked  
this morning.  Since that time, I have been avoiding capture and trying  
to assess the situation inside the mansion.  If Scanner and Xavier are  
both dead, and everyone else has been captured, we're their last  
hope.  I'm going to do all I can to save them.  If you prefer, you can  
stay here and go back to sleep.'  
  
    Havok smiled.  'Okay,'  he conceded.  'Looks like I *am*  
going to fall for it twice.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    Ororo Munroe had escaped Sabretooth and continued along  
the tunnels.  She didn't operate at her best in a confined space, and   
even though she was supposedly the ruler of the Morlocks, she had very   
little knowledge of these tunnels.  She was lost, and she desperately   
needed to get above ground.  Then, to her surprise, she found she could   
recognize where she was.  Back on home territory, under the mansion   
grounds.  She had managed to travel in a tight circle beneath   
Westchester.   
  
    'It is my destiny, then,'  she decided.  'I must not run.  I   
must face the enemy.  I must take responsibility for my mistakes.'  
  
    She headed for the nearest access hatch;  beneath the lake.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    A beautiful, venerated mansion reduced to a pile of rocks, and  
one man atop it all.  Essex was taking a pause, viewing the afternoon  
sun on the lake from halfway up a staircase that only went halfway up.   
This was what he had achieved;  a century of plotting to destroy the   
great destroyer, all undermined in a single day by his own hand.  After   
all he had done, the plans he had made, the precautions he had taken, he   
still could not stand up to the Lord Apocalypse.  Hazard and Xavier were   
dead, Cable missing, and the X-Men too would soon be gone.  Could   
nothing be salvaged?  
  
    'Sinister?'  said Dark Beast, rising out from underground.  'We  
have to kill them.  You cannot delay indefinitely.'  
  
    Essex did not move.  Beast waited for a reply, received none,  
and wearily descended back down through the hatch.  
  
    Perhaps, then, it was all over.  If he disobeyed Apocalypse, he  
was dead.  If he obeyed him, he was finished.  He didn't want to have to   
start again.  Perhaps it would be better to die.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    A repetitive pip rang out through the halls, awakening the old  
man from his pained rest.  It took him only a moment to realize that   
'his' X-Men had abandoned him at his death bed, and he was far from  
surprised.  
  
    The Legacy Virus fought against him more palpably with every   
breath, and though his powers were at their height, he hadn't even   
enough strength to stand. With a thought he brought a monitor into view,   
and if only to end the disruptive noise he chose to play the message   
which had so excited the sensors.  
  
    The face was that of Jean Grey.  The words were ones of  
tragedy.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    'Sinister!'  cried out a voice across the lawns.  
  
    The pale old man looked up to see the glowing, glowering figure  
of Alex Summers side by side with the formidable telepath Psylocke.    
'So. Here at last is the cavalry,'  said Sinister without a trace of   
mocking.  'But alas, you have no horses, no swords, and your numbers are   
few.  I think it only sporting that I give you your best shot.'  He   
waited expectantly.  Neither X-Man made a move, and he suspected that   
they were communicating telepathically, waiting for something.  Around   
him crackled the psionic fog, a dark voice screaming in silence.  Behind   
the X-Men the lake rippled suddenly;  swelling and churning beneath an   
invisible tempest.  A figure rose up in fury;  majesty and power and the   
grace of the elements.  
  
    'I am here, Elizabeth,'  said Storm.  'I shall lay him low.'  
  
    'No,'  said Psylocke.  'He's giving us one shot.  I don't want  
you to take it.'  
  
    Sinister watched with curiosity.  Who else *was* there?  Then  
he noticed they were no longer looking at him, but beyond him.  He   
turned  
his head.  The shimmering ghost of Scanner ripped deep into his mind  
and brought him tumbling to the floor.   
  
    He lay still for a moment, and Scanner stood proud.  Then his   
grimace became a smile, and she backed away.  'Was *that* your best  
shot?'  he asked, pushing himself onto his knees.  'Shame.  You will not  
have another.'  
  
    And he was wrong, for even as he spoke a tiny shudder raced   
through the Earth's electromagnetic spectrum.  The uncrowned king was  
returning.  
  
 - - - - - - - - - -  
Continued in X-Men #56 - Sinister versus Magneto!  
 - - - - - - - - - -  
  
 X-Writers Promotion:  
  
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   Moreau  
   Yeung  
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   McCoy  
                                                        
   The future of Genosha...                             
  
         ... and the future of the world ...           
  
                             ... lies in their hands.   
  
          X-Saviours - Coming soon to X-Writers.   
  
  
  



	36. X-Men #56: Traitor's Gate

X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction group using characters belonging to  
Marvel Entertainments. We do not have their permission to use  
these characters.  
  
\----  
X-Men #56  
Traitor's Gate Part Four  
"Seven, Eight, Open The Gate."  
Written by Andrew Wheeler   
\----  
  
    Jack Wyndham, ordinary man, lived an ordinary life. Even   
today, the day Charles Xavier died, he was having an ordinary day.   
Right now he was out shopping for bread and beers, having come to  
a horrible realisation about the state of his cupboards. Stepping  
out of the store and walking casually through Westchester towards  
his bike, his day was to take a sudden turn for the... extraordinary.  
  
    Sabretooth leapt from the alleyway and pushed Jack  
to the pavement. For a moment he thought his life was over.  
Then Creed stole one of his beers and swallowed it down. Creed  
was not in a good mood. And for a moment, he also considered  
the possibility that Jack's life might as well be over. Then a   
white cadillac screeched off the road and smashed Sabretooth  
into the wall.  
  
    "Shit!" gasped Jack.  
  
    The door opened and a man in a white cotton suit  
emerged. He had a gun in his hand. He aimed it at Sabretooth's  
head and shot him three times.  
  
    "If I were you I'd get out of here," said the stranger.  
"He'll be up and angry again in a few minutes."  
  
    The man in white got back in the car, reversed off  
the sidewalk, and drove away.  
  
    Sometimes extraordinary things happen to ordinary  
people.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    The man in white had been driving since morning.  
Since he got the signal that the computers had gone down at  
Westchester. The security protocols had been activated, all of  
Xavier's files had been automatically wiped to prevent  
tampering. Something was wrong. It was up to Curtis Verity to  
assess the damage.  
  
    He checked the clock on the dashboard. The hands  
were spinning a little too fast. He had entered some sort of  
strong magnetic field. He checked that the lead lined box on  
his passenger seat was securely sealed, and drove on towards  
the mansion undeterred. Whatever was out there, he knew   
that the truth was in here.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    Nathaniel Essex is almost two hundred years old,  
and he is beginning to feel the strain. After reaching a certain  
age, one finds it difficult to start all over again. Of course, he  
was technically immortal, but the days and hours and minutes  
went by just as slowly for him as for the next man, and time   
could be a prison without death to look forward to. He wondered  
if that might be the best answer. It was not too late to surrender  
to the might of Apocalypse. Should he give him that satisfaction?  
He faced four of the X-Men; Havok, Psylocke, Storm and   
Scanner. He could destroy them, do his duty, and thereby win  
favour with his Lord and sacrifice his weapon. He could also  
allow them to defeat him, fail in his task, and keep his handiwork  
alive to destroy Apocalypse, at the possible cost of his own  
tired life. This was his choice.  
  
    Red is a warm colour, yet the eyes of Sinister seem  
as cold as his soul. Scanner backed away from his terrifying  
scowl, and wondered what a man with his power could do to  
her astral self. Across the lawn Alex Summers unleashed a  
tremendous blast of raw plasma energy upon his adversary.  
It cascaded around Sinister's body, snakes of fire dying out  
against his skin. He turned from Scanner to Havok, showing  
no signs of being shaken by the blast, and responded with an  
attack of his own, a bolt of kinetic force from his hands that  
tore through the soil beneath Havok's feet, hurling him towards  
the lake. Psylocke jumped away, forward, and kept on moving  
straight towards Sinister. Storm covered her charge by hurling  
thunderous electricity at Sinister. Just as Psylocke drew near,  
a figure ascended from underground. With a bloodied patch  
over one eye, Bishop had arrived to defend his master.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Down below. Gambit joined Sugarman and the Dark  
Beast in the Danger Room, converted today into a prison for  
the unconscious bodies of Cannonball, Archangel, Quicksilver,  
Phoenix, Beast, Cyclops and Wolverine. He had betrayed his  
family. He had every reason to feel bad about it now.  
  
    "You two going topside to fight the X-Men?" he  
asked.   
  
    "You two are," replied Beast. "I'm staying here."  
  
    "I don't want to fight them," claimed Gambit. "I  
never said I would fight them."  
  
    "You have no choice. Daddy dearest," sneered Beast.  
  
    Gambit froze. Right now he knew exactly how Sinister  
was feeling. His life was so damaged, so unforgiving, that death  
seemed almost inviting. "You're a bastard McCoy."  
  
    "And you're a villain, LeBeau. How much sympathy  
do you deserve?"  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Psylocke. As a child she had been something of a   
tomboy, a scrapper. She wanted to be Bodicea, the warrior queen.  
Then she grew up to find she had other gifts; beauty enough to be  
a model, and the touch of Otherworld - telepathy. She had been  
a slightly spoilt child, however, and often asked for more no  
matter how much she had received. Despite her gifts, she wanted  
it all. She wanted strength.  
  
    Then she died.  
  
    Then she came back from death, and her mind was  
grafted into the body of another woman, a woman with her own  
past. Revanche had denied the beauty in her soul to bind herself  
to strength. Now that strength belonged to Psylocke, but it  
did not make her complete. She was not Betsy Braddock, and  
she was not Revanche. She had asked too much, and with  
Revanche's strength came Revanche's weakness; a woman who  
could betray her own heart. Betsy's fear was losing her  
strength. Revanche's fear was bearing her soul. Psylocke had  
become a crippled woman.  
  
    Revanche had loved in this life, and she had loved  
in another. Neither she nor Psylocke could remember that  
other life, because to her it had never happened. This life  
was with Bishop.  
  
    Bishop had lived three lives. A life in the future,  
where he belonged, which had ended after the discovery of  
Jean Grey's dying message, and a life in the past which did not  
exist, which had begun when Charles Xavier had been killed  
by his own son, and the life he was living now, which was  
falling apart on a day when both Xavier died, and Jean first  
recorded her message. Sinister had taken these lives and  
twisted them together, forging fake memories to create a  
fourth life, a lie, where Charles Xavier was the enemy. Once  
Bishop had destroyed Xavier, it became a simple task for  
Sinister to bury all the lives in that mind, for his hooks were  
deeply caught. Bishop had become a robot; a slave.  
  
    If anyone could change that it was the woman he  
had loved in his dead life, who in this life had the powers of  
a fully fledged telepath. During his long years as an amnesiac  
in an age of Apocalypse he had found a human woman, a  
true survivor, who struggled to open her heart to him. They  
had become lovers, working together to fight the Infinites.   
Then the day had come when she had led a mission into Hong  
Kong. They had met for what he did not know was their last  
time, in an indoor reconstruction of a Japanese garden, on a  
plastic bridge made to look like wood, overspanning a still river  
thick with plaster dust and shards of glass. She did not tell  
him that she knew she would never return. Revanche simply  
kissed him, and said goodbye.   
  
    When the world in which this happened ceased to  
be, the memories of this life slipped across in fragments to  
the other Bishop, the true Bishop. These memories did not  
fit, and so he let them go. Yet they lingered. A robot he may  
have become, but Psylocke knew of his confused attraction  
to her. If she could use her powers to enter his mind, and to  
pull those emotions to the fore, she might steal him from  
Sinister's control. Their love had never been, yet it was the  
only weapon she had. To use it, she would have to open his  
head. And he would have to open her heart. Only then might  
they both be saved.  
  
    Bishop's one eye gazed at Psylocke, and with sorrow  
she looked back at him. It was foolish, she knew, and yet she  
wasn't sure she could do this. Was she strong enough to face  
what she would find within him?  
  
    Sinister's eyes snapped over towards them both, and  
he saw the threat at once. "Melissa," he whispered.  
  
    The Sugarman's assistant, a Genoshan mutant called  
Melissa Sweetly with unique transcorporeal powers formed in   
front of him from a swirl of particles in the air.  
  
    "Deal with the telepath," he ordered.  
  
    Not even fully regathered yet, Melissa again blew away   
like dust on the wind, sweeping around Psylocke as if in a storm.  
Then particles began to settle on Psylockes' skin. As Betsy   
attempted in vain to swipe the particles away, her mind reached   
out through the painful haze towards Bishop. It was no good. Soon   
her entire body was coated in glistening white, a sugar statue. It fell   
to pieces and scattered through the air.  
  
    "Now hold her, Melissa!" ordered Sinister. "Keep her  
from the fight."  
  
    Bishop turned his gun on Alex Summers, who was  
relentlessly, exhaustively, targeting Sinister. Bishop's first  
two shots missed, his aim upset by the loss of his eye, and then  
Storm shot the gun from his hand, then swooped upon him,  
crashing into him. She knew that any energy assault against her  
friend would most likely work against her. She had to find another  
way to take him out of the fight, no matter what.  
  
    "I am sorry, Bishop," she claimed as the wind  
picked up to carry them both. It took them over the rubble,  
then threw them into the pool. Then the water itself stirred  
up around them, catching their bodies, pummeling down onto  
Bishop and holding him under the surface. She was drowning  
him. He held her tight and refused to let go, so that they  
might drown together. Storm fought back at first, her eyes  
following a stream of blood from Bishop's damaged eye up  
to the sunlight. Then she chose to hold him instead, her hands  
upon his shoulders, and she kissed him. It was not a lover's  
embrace. This was for life. She was taking the very air from  
his lungs. When his one eye closed, she let him go. Then she  
tried to rise to the surface.  
  
    Then the surface was beneath her. She swam towards  
it, and it twisted away. She followed it, and it eluded her. The  
horizon and the sky both spun out of reach and she panicked.  
Again that day she swallowed water, but this time she could  
not save herself.   
  
    "Help me drag those two out of there," ordered  
the Marauder Vertigo. Gambit nodded, removed his trenchcoat,  
and dived in.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    Alex Summers collapsed against a tree trunk. He   
had retreated from the lawn to regather his strength. All his  
energy had been wasted on the attack on Sinister, and now both  
Storm and Psylocke seemed to have vanished from the battle,  
with Scanner offering no aid. The X-Men had lost.  
  
    He looked up to see a figure on the lake. A man in  
a crimson robe and black, gliding towards him.  
  
    "My God," he gasped.  
  
    Suddenly Harpoon was to his right, some distance away,  
ready to hurl the metal weapon that would turn to energy as soon  
as it left his hand straight at Havok. Alex dived to the ground.  
Harpoon then also noticed the man on the lake, from the corner  
of his eye.  
  
    The harpoon left his hand, but not because the Marauder  
had thrown it. The other harpoons began to rise from his quill, one  
by one. "Oh shit!" he screamed as he slowly recognised the new  
arrival. A moment later, he was dead; speared against a tree.  
  
    Sinister heard his death cry, and looked up from   
his inspection of Gambit and Vertigo as they dragged Storm  
and Bishop below. He also recognised the figure on the lake.  
  
    "Hurry," demanded Sinister of his two pawns.  
"Make sure McCoy treats Bishop. Quickly."  
  
    Then Sinister stepped forward to welcome his  
guest. The figure arrived on the bank, and soon the two men  
were facing.  
  
    Magneto had been called the uncrowned king   
of mutants. One of the most powerful men that ever lived.  
Ruthless, but not evil. Zealous, hateful, bitter, but still...  
redeemable.  
  
    Sinister had been first counsel to Apocalypse.  
Though not a true mutant, he could still have been seen in  
the court of the uncrowned king. Always in shadow. He  
had been evil. He had been cruel, malevolent and wicked.  
He could never be redeemed.  
  
    A better man than both of them had died this  
day. He had not been pure, his reputation was not without  
stain. However, Charles Xavier had been the greatest  
ambassador that mutantkind had ever known. To Magneto  
he was the strongest friend. To Sinister, a most formidable  
enemy. It was in his name they would have to do battle.  
  
    "How did you do it?" asked Sinister. "How did  
you become both devil and messiah?"  
  
    "I am no messiah, Sinister," replied Magneto.  
"Just a man with conviction. Every man must have his beliefs.  
Even you, I'm sure." Magneto stared into the face of his  
opponent, but like a cadaver it showed no answers. "What  
do you believe in, Sinister?"  
  
    "God," he replied. "First and foremost, I believe  
in God."  
  
    "You surprise me."  
  
    "I would be foolish not to believe in Him. I have   
worked with His adversary. It would be a terrible thing to know  
the Devil and not to believe in God. My mistake..." he paused  
in reflection. "No. My first mistake was in not fearing Him.  
Instead I tried to outdo Him. In spite of my faith I betrayed Him.  
I am the greatest of the traitors, Magneto. And He shall never  
save me."  
  
    Magneto, his weakened body held in place only  
by his desperate hold on the magnetic field, surveyed the  
ruin of the day. "This was not the action of a man seeking   
salvation," he concluded.  
  
    Sinister smiled. "No," he agreed. "It think instead  
I have been trying to delay damnation. Survival, Magneto. It's  
a most difficult game."  
  
    "On that we can agree," said Magneto. "And we  
both have lost."  
  
    "Why do you say that?" asked Sinister.  
  
    "We are both dying," explained Magneto. "I have  
lost my health, you have lost your hope. What is left for either  
of us? To save my race, to defeat Apocalypse, we both would  
have been best served with the presence of Charles Xavier.  
He could have saved us both. Now, he is lost to us. Is he not?"  
  
    Sinister laughed. Magneto scowled at him.  
  
    "He was there before us all. Apocalypse was the  
first mutant. What vamity is it that makes us believe we could  
ever survive him? We three, Magneto. We were the ones to  
fight him. If all three of us are defeated, then there is nothing  
left at all. For anyone. So yes, you are right. I have doomed   
us all."  
  
    "And you believe there is no hope at all?"  
  
    Sinister shook his head. Yesterday, perhaps, he  
would have believed in hope. Certainly a week ago, when all  
his plans lay before him. Yet however strong, however cruel,  
however devious he might be, in the end his life was bound  
to Apocalypse. Apocalypse could end it with a thought. Now  
his plans lay in ruins, and the others would never survive  
without him.  
  
    "Who is your hope, Magneto? The glorious  
Twelve? Will they bring Apocalypse low? They are a fairy  
tale. A fantasy for Apocalypse himself."  
  
    "A fantasy?"  
  
    "Of course. If he can label twelve of his opponents  
as the strongest, the greatest, the worthiest of foes, and still  
knock each one down in turn, then it proves he is greater  
each time. He creates his enemies, you see? As I do mine. And  
if Charles Xavier could be the first of the Twelve, then the next  
had better be twice the man if he is to survive. Yet still  
Apocalypse will prevail. It is just part of the game to him."  
Sinister paused once more, his face now describing his pains.  
"There is one, of course. Twelve is just a number, but this...  
this one could be the saviour. And he is lost to me, and I was  
his greatest hope. And he was mine."  
  
    "Cable is dead, Sinister."  
  
    Essex looked up into Magneto's eyes. The truth  
was not worth denying. "Yes. I thought so. I knew I could not  
locate him after the assassination. You see? What hope is there  
now?"  
  
    "Then you should be resigned to your death."  
  
    "I should," agreed Sinister. "Yet still... I am not."  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Vertigo heard the thump behind her and turned, with  
Storm in her arms. She found Bishop on the floor. Gambit had   
dropped him.  
  
    "What are you doing?" asked Veritgo. Gambit punched  
her in the face. Then he lay Storm out in the corridor and began to  
attempt resuscitation.  
  
    "Come on Stormy," he demanded as he pumped her  
chest to force the water from her lungs. "They weren't about to  
give you the kiss o' life, and I sure as hell ain't gonna let you die."  
  
    The pool water began to spew from her lips, and she  
convulsed, then started to cough it all out.  
  
    "Storm?"  
  
    She tried to speak, but her coughing caught hold of  
her again. Then, when she was steady, she lay back down and  
looked up into Gambit's face. "Why, Remy?"  
  
    "They've got Rogue. An' some other people I care  
about too. The ones I care most about. All exceptin' you, o'  
course Stormy." He tried to smile. "You're de one that trusted  
me. I'm sorry chere." Then he began to cry, but quietly.  
  
    "Bishop. Is he alive?"  
  
    "I think so. Just. If you want to save him, go ahead.  
I guess. He's still gonna be on their side. Sinister did a real  
good job on him."  
  
    "And you, Gambit? Whose side are you on?"  
  
    Gambit sat back on his haunches. Robbed of his  
trademark trenchcoat, and washed free of his charm, he looked  
like an ordinary man. As flawed as any. He held his own head  
in his palms. "What should I do, Stormy?" he asked.  
  
    "Go."  
  
    "What?"  
  
    "Get out of here. Never come back, we won't want   
you," she told him. "You've done as much as Sinister could ask  
of you. If you disappear now, it won't be a betrayal, you won't be  
helping us. I'll find Rogue, I promise you. Now, get out."  
  
    He rose to his feet. "The X-Men are alive. They're  
in the Danger Room. The man guarding them looks like Hank,  
but it ain't him." He stepped over Bishop and headed out. Then  
he stopped. "Thanks Stormy."  
  
    "I mean it," she told him. "Don't ever return."  
  
    As he ascended to the surface once more, Bishop  
began to cough and shake. Storm took one mournful look at him   
before abandoning him to save the X-Men.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    Magneto did not move. He was trying to summon   
his powers, but the Legacy virus was fighting his control. Sinister  
did not move either. He was considering his options. Over   
Magneto's shoulder he noticed bubbles in the lake. The Sugarman  
was rising, like some archaic sea monster. He grinned with  
his sickening yellowed fangs, and his blade like tongue laced  
out like a venomous snake.  
  
    Wordlessly, Alex Summers stepped out from the trees  
and hit Sugarman with a plasma blast. Sugarman screamed, and  
fell back beneath the water. When Magneto turned to see what  
had happened, Sinister took his opportunity.  
  
    Sinister was a man with power to spare. He could  
alter his own form, wield great energies, even use his mind  
as a focused weapon. Yet sometimes only a fist to the jaw will  
do. As Magneto hit the ground, Sinister bent over him to slam  
into his face with his elbow. This time Havok's blast took him  
off balance.  
  
    Scanner chose this moment to make her astral self  
visible once more, and for a second time delved into Sinister's  
mind to hurt him. Magneto rode the magnetic waves to carry  
himself into a standing position once more.  
  
    "Scanner, Havok, find the X-Men," ordered   
Magneto. "I will deal with Sinister. It will not be safe for you  
here."  
  
    Scanner obediently descended through the ground,  
whilst Havok ran toward the access hatch. He didn't see Gambit,  
who was in amongst the wreckage of the house, shielded from  
sight by a part of the wall. He was looking for a momento of  
Rogue. All he could find was a pair of her gloves.  
  
 - - - -   
  
    There was no-one guarding the X-Men. Storm forced  
open the Danger Room doors to find herself unopposed. The  
battered, bloodied bodies of her team confronted her. Behind her,  
Dark Beast was just entering the room. She span around to  
face him.  
  
    "It's true. You do look like Hank," she said before  
striking the unprepared villain with an electrical charge, throwing  
him back into the corridor. Then she raced over to the cells  
where her friends were held. First was Quicksilver, covered  
with thick scars and temporarily paralysed.  
  
    "Storm?"  
  
    "Scanner! Child, return to your body so you might  
help me with the casualties."  
  
    "They killed my body, Storm." Scanner looked as  
if she wanted to cry, but of course, she couldn't. Storm was  
stunned for a moment, but quickly regained her footing. "You  
can still be of help, Marie. Try to wake anyone who looks as  
if they are strong enough to bear it. I will get some medical  
equipment from the infirmary."  
  
    "Done," said Havok as he joined them.  
  
    "Alex! Has Bishop recovered?"  
  
    "I didn't see him."   
  
    "Then he has recovered. Lock the doors, then  
we can begin."  
  
 - - - -   
  
    When Curtis Verity drove between the iron gates  
onto the mansion grounds he assumed some sort of computer  
mechanism had opened them. Then he noticed that the gates  
had buckled and crumpled like paper. Then the car itself began  
to shake and scream. Verity grabbed his gun and the lead lined   
box and jumped from the car. The car started to roll on up the  
driveway before hitting a tree. The keys flew out of Verity's  
pockets, as did a pen, then the gun from his hand. He removed  
his watch before it cut off all circulation in his wrist, and let it  
go. Then the car flipped and spun into the air, followed by the  
gates themselves. Curtis ran to safety as they flew past him.  
  
    Checking briefly that nothing else was going to  
come his way, he began to make his way cautiously along the  
path.  
  
 - - - -  
  
    There was something tangible in the air, and the   
ripple of the electromagnetic field seemed to be warping the  
light around them, creating a visible shudder. Magneto was  
above the ground, a carousel of objects all around him, from  
Verity's car to Wolverine's honour sword.  
  
    Sinister was pinned to the ground. He tried to drag  
himself away from the storm, and away from the face that  
looked down on him now.  
  
    "You can't kill me," screamed Sinister. "Only one  
man can kill me."  
  
    Magneto looked down. His greyed face was suddenly  
shaded by the white light sparking like a corona about his body.  
He was shaking, apparently in tremendous pain. "Don't be so  
sure," he claimed.  
  
    When Legacy takes a victim it forces their powers  
into overdrive, and takes them out of the wielder's control.  
Magneto had reached the stage where his powers were at  
an unprecedented level, but he refused to surrender control.  
If any man could fight the virus, it was him.  
  
    Gambit gripped the trunk of a porcelain wash-stand  
which jutted up out of the debris. The top of the hatch had   
already been torn out of the ground, and Bishop was now   
anchored in the hatchway, refusing to be dragged into the maelstrom.  
  
    Then, suddenly, it ended. Every object fell from  
the sky, creating a scrap yard ring around Sinister. The  
atmosphere was no longer so harsh. The air was as clear as  
the morning after the monsoon.  
  
    Slowly Magneto bought his hands together, pointing  
down towards Sinister. There was silence. The birds had flown,  
the wind was still, all Sinister could hear was his own breathing.  
  
    Then Magneto let go. A focused wave of magnetic  
energy flowed out from his body and pounded, pounded,   
pounded into Sinister. Both men screamed; one because he was  
pushing himself far beyond his own limitations, the other because  
his body was being torn apart. Every magnetic particle, however  
minute, was being ripped from it's place. His very form, malleable  
as it had become through generations of genetic self-abuse,  
distorted and stretched under the assault.  
  
    "Help me!" screamed Sinister. Bishop vaulted  
from the hatch and raced forward, grabbing a gun from the   
ground and aiming it at Magneto. Magneto himself could  
see nothing of this. He had become little more than a conduit  
for his powers. The outside world was only so much light  
and noise.  
  
    Before Bishop could fire, a sword tip slipped out  
through his chest. Gambit had run him through with the  
sword of the Yashida clan. Bishop slid forward onto the   
grass.  
  
    "Help me!" repeated Sinister as his own bones  
began to rupture through his skin. Then words were too hard  
to speak as his throat filled with blood.  
  
    The white particles in the air began to reconverge  
into the statue of Psylocke. Melissa let her go so that she  
could concentrate on saving Sinister, but as she poured her  
form over him, the magnetic force beat her back. She snapped  
back into her solid form with a scream, where Psylocke could  
then take her down with a single kick.  
  
    Both Psylocke and Gambit watched on as Magneto's  
scream suddenly came to an end and he hit the ground   
unconscious. From Sinister, his body barely recognisable,   
there was no movement. Then Psylocke saw Bishop in a  
pool of blood.  
  
    "No," she cried. "I could have saved him!"  
She ran to his side and opened his dying mind to hers. As  
she descended into silence, kneeling by him as if in prayer,  
Gambit stepped across the metal ring towards Magneto.  
  
    A woman appeared in a spark of light beside  
Sinister. Then she disappeared. Then she reappeared again.  
  
    "Magnetic field," she remarked. "Not a good   
atmosphere for teleportation."  
  
    Gambit glowered at the stranger, who looked back   
at him with cold detachment. "Hello," she said. "Lilith Fremont.   
Pleased to meet you." She held out a hand. He made no   
movement. A dart shot out from her wrist into his chest, and he  
collapsed. During all this, Psylocke did not move. Her mind  
was elsewhere. Fremont turned her attention to a small device in  
her hand and prepared to teleport away again.  
  
    "Don't leave me!" shouted the Dark Beast as he  
bounded across the lawn.   
  
    "We have no need of your services, Mr McCoy,"  
claimed Fremont. "I work with Sinister, not with Apocalypse."  
  
    "I know where to find Cable."  
  
    "Very well." She pressed a few buttons, and with a  
final flash, she was gone. Gambit, Sinister and the Dark Beast  
were all gone with her. They left behind them a dream in ruins.  
  
 - - - - - - -  
To Be Concluded In Uncanny X-Men #337  
 - - - - - - -  
  
 - - - - - - -  
X-Writers Promotion:  
 - - - - - - -  
 Moreau made it.  
 Hodge controlled it.  
 Sinister destroyed it.  
  
 Genosha is making a comeback.  
  
 Sadly, so are they.  
 - - - - - - -  
 X-Saviours.  
 Coming soon.  
 - - - - - - -  
  
  



	37. Uncanny X-Men #337: Traitor's Gate

  
X-Writers is a non-profit organisation. Many of the characters and   
places featured in this story are copyright of Marvel Entertainments.  
  
=======================  
Uncanny X-Men #337  
Traitor's Gate Part 5.  
Nine, Ten, Start Again.  
By Andrew Wheeler.  
=======================  
  
        Bishop was dying. His heart was bleeding. In truth, he was as   
good as dead, but something in him clung on; his spirit, his conscience,  
his soul. It would not hold on for long, and he would fade away; a ghost  
of a time that had not yet come, a man dead long before he was born. In  
these passing moments Elizabeth Braddock entered his mind, not because  
she could save him, but because she could not let him die a slave. She  
had to free him from Sinister's conditioning. He had to die as himself.  
  
        It was like being inside a glass box, with images painted on the  
walls. Though she could see them for the artifice they were, to him they  
had become the only truth. Too many conflicting memories had simply  
fallen beneath Sinister's purging force, leaving nothing to cling to but  
the newest lies. She had not understood, when she had entered his mind  
before. She thought the images she had seen of a very different universe  
had been fabrications from Bishop's mind, spawned by childhood memories  
of wonderful fables about the mythic X-Men and their foes. Now,   
shattering the glass with a kick, she saw them for what they truly   
were. Just as he had lived through a future that could never occur, so  
he had lived in a past that had never been. Nightcrawler, Illyana,  
Exodus, even a young man with a startling resemblance to Cable, these  
were amongst the many frozen, ghostly faces that stared at her from the  
remnants of erased memories. This was of a different world. Without  
asking, she was coming to understand it now, in a way Bishop never had,  
for as she stepped from figure to figure touching each one in turn, she  
remained always an outsider, an intruder. The truth seeped into her;   
Charles had been dead twenty years, Apocalypse had risen to power in the  
Americas, Magneto led the resistance. It was an alternative history of  
the world which Bishop could never have seen, yet had.  
  
        One image still stood stronger than the rest. She had visited it  
before, and even now it would not be wholly suppressed. It was Bishop on  
the Japanese bridge, saying farewell to the love he could never  
surrender. Kwannon. A different version of the woman whose body Psylocke  
now inhabited, who now in some part still lived in Elizabeth's psyche.  
Two things were missing from the scene. One was the false garden, too  
insignificant to survive Sinister's interference, so that the bridge   
simply hung in a colourless void. The other was Kwannon herself. With  
some trepidation Elizabeth realised that she herself, the image of  
Bishop's love, was to fulfil that role. She stepped on to the bridge.  
  
        "Hello Elizabeth."  
  
        "Then you know who I am? Who I truly am?"  
  
        "Death has robbed me of all my illusions, Elizabeth. Or perhaps  
it was you, coming here. Either way, I see it all clearly now."  
  
        "And this scene, from all your life, you hold dearest to you?"  
  
        Bishop held the rail of the bridge and looked down to the water,  
which was no longer there. "I loved her," he confessed. "I loved her so  
much, so completely, and it shames me that I ever forgot her. All I  
wanted was to be with her, eternally, and somehow I let her go."  
  
        "No, Bishop. She survived. In spite of what you went through you  
held on to some shred of her memory. That is truly incredible. What you  
shared was truly incredible, and I know it was shared. The part of me  
that is Kwannon, the Kwannon of this world, who has known and lost love  
just as you have done, can feel the strength of the love you had for  
er, and that she shared for you. I can feel it, Bishop."  
  
        He turned to face her, his eyes stained by tears, and saw a  
miracle. Psylocke's clothes, her hair, her very manner had altered, and  
she had become Kwannon. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and   
Kwannon did not resist. Together they faded away, embracing eternally.  
The woman that watched them die was Elizabeth Braddock, a pale and  
beautiful English rose with light blonde hair and glistening blue eyes.  
  
        "I'm so sorry," she whispered.  
  
 - - - -   
  
        Suddenly Psylocke awoke with an anguished gasp, tears streaming  
across her cheeks, and she began to cry uncontrollably.  
  
        "Psylocke is awake," remarked Havok with alarm.  
  
        "Leave her Alex, she is fine," screamed Storm. "We must focus  
on Bishop. It is Bishop that is critical."  
  
        "No," replied Psylocke. "Bishop is dead.  
  
 - - - -   
  
        "Wake up, LeBeau."  
  
        The voice came to him as if through a thick cloth. He couldn't   
tell yet if it was a man or a woman. He tried to open his eyes, and   
thought he had failed, but slowly the darkness became vague shapes and   
colours, and he realised his eyes were open.   
  
        "Your eyesight will return soon enough," said the voice. Now he  
knew it was a woman, though her voice was dry and deep. "Your body   
should still feel numb, but that too will pass."  
  
        "I don't remember..."  
  
        "They're dead, LeBeau," she lied. "The X-Men are all dead. You   
helped to kill them, though I removed you from the scene before the   
slaughter. I thought it was best to keep our operatives safe from the   
evils of Apocalypse. It was not our idea, you see. It was nothing to do   
with us. En Sabah Nur does not even know we exist. It is unfortunate   
that we had to be involved at all. Nathaniel's fault, of course. It   
will not happen again."  
  
        "Who are you?" asked Gambit, too numb to really understand any  
of what he was hearing, though it would all sink in later.  
  
        "I am Dr Lilith Fremont. We met on the lawns at Westchester,   
though you wouldn't remember that right now. I will be your new superior  
until Nathaniel has recovered himself."  
  
        "I ain't goin' to work for you."  
  
        "When you're feeling a little clearer, I may permit you a short  
visit with some of our other guests. Carmen, or Bernard, or that young  
girl with the striped hair."  
  
        Gambit fell silent.  
  
        "Welcome to Onslaught, Mr LeBeau. Welcome back."  
  
 - - - -  
  
        Curtis Verity, the man in the cream coloured suit, picked up a  
crowbar from the metal on the lawn and took it to the mahogany drinks  
cabinet amongst the wreckage of the Professor's study, levering open the  
buckled locked door. Most of the bottles inside were broken, their  
contents forming a lethal cocktail in every sense of the phrase, slivers  
of glass floating invisible next to the spilled contents of an   
ice bucket. He fished out an unharmed bottle of Pernod and a tumbler and  
took them both over to a broken water pipe, catching a little of the  
flowing water in the tumbler to dilute the Pernod.  
  
        "You shouldn't stand out here Mr Verity. They've told me the  
whole structure might come down at any minute." The ghost presence of  
Scanner emerged through the rubble.  
  
        "Good evening Miss Watson," said Verity with a smile and a nod.  
He sipped his Pernod and stepped gently back towards the lawn. "How are  
you coping?"  
  
        "Oh, I'm coping," replied Scanner curtly. "Isn't it every girl's  
dream to be a ghost, Mr Verity? Shame the old house is in such a   
shambles, or I might have haunted the place." Her tone was bitter and  
unfriendly. "I've been sent up to find out who you are," she told him.  
"Storm says we can't be having strangers wandering about at this time,  
and if you're a friend then you ought to be downstairs helping out."  
  
        "I represent the Mutant Underground, Miss Watson."  
  
        "So you're a mutant?"  
  
        "No. I'm the Underground." He smiled. "I've been on an   
assignment for Charles in Cairo, tracking down a gentleman named Gareb  
Bashur. I was to meet Charles tomorrow morning in Manhattan. Then the  
mansion was attacked and an automatic transmission was sent to my  
beeper, so I drove over here to assess the damage. I assume Charles is  
dead, yes?"  
  
        "Yes."  
  
        "I see. Then it may interest you to know that he planned heavily  
for just such an occurrence."  
  
        "Doesn't surprise me," sneered Scanner. "Devious wee bastard he  
was. Manipulative."  
  
        "That's a curious attitude for an X-Man to take."  
  
        "I'm only that because Magneto tells me I am," claimed Scanner.  
"I didn't know Xavier much, but what I saw I didn't like. I'm glad he's  
dead."  
  
        Verity stared at her coldly, but he could see she spoke out of  
bitterness, not malice, and chose to let the comment pass. His pacing of  
the lawn bought him back to his little lead box. "Now Charles is gone  
I'm to pass on my information to Scott Summers. No, sorry, he changed  
that detail a few weeks back. Ororo Munroe. These are..." he looked  
around. The only other person present was the Marauder Harpoon, and he  
was speared to a tree with his guts around his ankles. "These are   
Xavier's files. The ones he lost when the Phalanx attacked the mansion.  
I have retrieved them, and must now charge them to Ororo in their...  
almost in their entirety. The membership of the Mutant Underground is to  
remain my secret alone. So you see, I am friend, not foe."  
  
        Scanner looked him up and down, and out and in. He had strong  
psychic shields for a Flatscan, but it felt like Xavier's handiwork.   
For all she could sense, he was both truthful and well intentioned. He  
did not seem to resist her mind probe. "Fine," said Scanner. "I'll tell  
Storm." She sank down into the ground.  
  
 - - - -   
  
        Hank McCoy, the darker, elder version, sat in a cold and sterile  
office awaiting the return of Dr Fremont. Rather than waste his time  
staring at blank walls, he was attempting to hack into her computer.  
He was not succeeding.  
  
        "I see you're making yourself comfortable," said a slim,  
beautiful, dark haired woman as she casually slunk into the room. It  
was most certainly not Dr Fremont, whose pale skin and blanched hair  
made her seem almost a phantom. This woman was quite certainly a lot  
less ephemeral. Her clothes - a bright red shirt tied at the midriff,  
a pair of violently purple jeans - were so rich in colour that she   
didn't fit in at all with Fremont's corpse of an office. She smiled  
broadly, and the whiteness of her grin was dazzling against her dark  
Californian tan. She looked lively and vivacious and perhaps a little  
shallow. She did not look villainous.  
  
        Without making any inquiries as to what McCoy was doing at  
Fremont's desk she offered her hand to him and gave him a firm   
handshake, introducing herself as Clarissa. "And you must be the  
butcher of worlds, right?"  
  
        "I see you've heard of me," grinned McCoy, easily falling into  
her charmingly twisted sense of assumed familiarity.  
  
        "Sure I have. Nate briefed us all on this other world of yours.  
Fascinating. Really. Can I ask you a question? I'm sure you get this all  
the time, but I just have to know. What was *I*? Over there, I mean. I'd  
love to know what happened to me in a different life. I've tried all  
that past-life regression crap and it didn't mean a thing, but this is  
like, y'know, *really* me. Only different."  
  
        "Yes. Er... who are you?" asked McCoy.  
  
        Her grin did not waver. "Oh! You don't know me! Oh that's a  
shame. I was hoping maybe I'd become an actress or something over  
there. A famous movie star or something."  
  
        "Hollywood was landfill in my world."  
  
        "Oh well. Plus ca change and all that."  
  
        "So... who are you?" repeated McCoy.  
  
        "Clarissa Trask. Of the family Trask. You know, Sentinels and  
mad relatives and that shit. Don't tell me the Trasks never amounted  
to anything over there either?"  
  
        McCoy leant back in Fremont's rigid chair to take another long  
look at Clarissa, pretending to be re-examining her in light of this  
new information, though in truth he was looking at her breasts.  
  
        "Well I never," he smirked. "Yes, the Trasks amounted to  
something. Your father Bolivar was head of the Human High Council. Ended  
up married to Moira MacTaggart as I recall."  
  
        Clarissa laughed. "That's a joke, right?"  
  
        "Afraid not."  
  
        "Weird. So what about me?"  
  
        "You ran to England with your father. Married a Dr Campbell.   
Died with him when we wiped out Paris. Well, France."  
  
        "Oh no! That's awful. Married a Scotsman and died in France;  
that's hideous. Tell me at least it was a tragically romantic death?"  
  
        "For all I know it might well have been, but no-one survived  
to report it. Still, no hard feelings?"  
  
        "Hell no. Guess not." She dropped down into the seat on the  
other side of the desk and swung her feet up. "So where is Dr Lilywhite  
anyhow?"  
  
        "Who?"  
  
        "Fremont."  
  
        "Oh. I'm not sure. When we arrived here at... where are we   
exactly."  
  
        "An Onslaught nerve centre. Can't tell you where."  
  
        "Onslaught? Well that explains a few things. Under Sinister's  
control, is it?"  
  
        "Not entirely. You were saying?"  
  
        "Yes. Well, when we arrived Dr Fremont suddenly turned  
efficient. Had Gambit dragged off somewhere, ordered me taken to this  
office, and went elsewhere with Sinister's body."  
  
        Clarissa arched an eyebrow, but still the smile didn't move.  
"Body?" she asked.  
  
        "Yes. Looked messy. Still, he is immortal."  
  
        "Mmm. Well, that explains why she called me up here."  
  
        "Is Fremont your superior?"  
  
        Again Clarissa laughed. Her laugh was all summertime and   
cherries and drink-driving accidents. "No sir, Mr McCoy. We're about  
equal, her and me. There are seven of us run this shop; Lilly, Nate  
and George, Laura and Mossy, and me and Don."  
  
        "You make it sound like Gilligan's Island."  
  
        "Ha! We don't want to get off this rock, Mr McCoy. We want to  
own it. We'll do it too. We're everywhere already, you see. As soon  
as a few of the bigger obstacles are out of the way, we can force our  
advantage. Rule the world." The smile was broader than ever.  
  
        "By bigger obstacles you infer..."  
  
        "Well, Xavier is dead, so next on the list I guess would be  
Apocalypse. He finished off the first incarnation of Onslaught, so  
it's about time we repaid the favour."  
  
        "So how do you plan to deal with Apocalypse?"  
  
        "That's where you come in. Or else, that's where Cable comes in,  
and from the scraps of rumour I picked up on my way up here I get the  
idea you're the man who can deliver him when no-one else can."  
  
        "Better," said McCoy. "I can get you a younger, stronger,   
stupider Cable."  
  
        She didn't believe him for a minute. "You're really going to   
have to prove that claim Mr McCoy."  
  
        "Of course, even if you do get your hands on this ultimate  
weapon of mine, you can't kill Apocalypse without killing Sinister.  
Their lives are bound by some arcane pact."  
  
        "Ways and means, butcher. Ways and means." Lilith had slipped  
back into her office without McCoy noticing. He leapt with fear upon  
hearing her voice, and fell from the chair onto the floor. Clarissa  
laughed. Lilith was also amused. Her lips, strikingly red against her  
drained face, showed a smile that was not at all evident in her cold  
eyes. Even that vague token soon vanished. "Miss Trask, is Miss   
DeWinter arrived yet?"  
  
        "Not seen her. What's going on?"  
  
        "Apocalypse has failed in his plan to kill the X-Men. The next  
move belongs to us. We can no longer allow Nathaniel's loyalties to  
be divided between two masters. I have elected to deal with the problem.  
Finally." Fremont vanished down the corridor once more, and even  
Clarissa was left cold.  
  
        "What does she mean?" asked McCoy.  
  
        "God knows. Sounds like she's going to kill him."  
  
        "Would she do that?"  
  
        "She's the closest thing he has to a friend. I wouldn't put it  
past her."  
  
 - - - -   
  
        It was getting dark. Night was creeping up on Westchester. They  
couldn't tell, as they were all underground in the artificial light.  
Ororo took one final look at Bishop's face, restful in death, before  
pulling the sheet over it. Next to him was another covered corpse; that  
of Charles Xavier. No-one had been out to retrieve Scanner's remains,  
and Scanner was happy to leave it that way for now. Jean also lay dead,  
but they could not cover her corpse as there was still life within her,  
and she was wired up to machines to keep that baby alive.  
  
        Ororo left these bodies and went to attend to the living in the  
infirmary.  
  
        Magneto still had not regained consciousness, but was stable.  
His son Quicksilver slept in the next bed, kept tranquillised against  
the pain of Archangels feather blade cuts now the neuro-synaptic  
paralysis had worn off. Archangel himself was awake, but weak, and Betsy  
was sitting with him, the to of them clinging together as if nothing  
else in the world were solid enough to hold them.  
  
        Hank was awake and on his feet, monitoring Wolverine's healing  
process. Hank's fur was patchily bald, his skin badly burnt in places,  
but he refused to relax whilst he could be helping. He insisted he was  
fit enough. He was quite obviously lying. Cannonball, who seemed to be  
suffering from nothing mores serious than a headache and a bruised neck,  
was assisting Hank as best he could.  
  
        Finally there was Rachel and Scott. He was feeling angry and  
guilty and defeated, and had every right to all three feelings, but  
Rachel was there to offer him support. Both of them were in tears, he   
for the past, she for the future.  
  
        Ororo gave them each a glance and saw that everyone was as  
comfortable as she could hope for. She walked over to the  
communications centre, where Alex and Verity were trying to establish  
a connection.  
  
        "They've killed it," said Alex.  
  
        "Who are you hoping to call?" asked Verity.  
  
        "Anyone," replied Alex.  
  
        "I would offer my mobile, but I think it was destroyed by the  
magnetic storm."  
  
        "As was most of our medical equipment. Some of it seems to be  
working now, but Hank says he can't be sure of the accuracy. We need  
to get Jean to a hospital. Everyone else can probably be looked after  
here," explained Storm. "The exception is Magneto. He may need more  
serious attention, but I don't think it's wise to send him to a  
hospital. If he becomes critical we will have no choice."  
  
        Alex took another look around the communications room. What  
had escaped burning had been battered, what had escaped battering had  
been killed by the storm. Nothing had escaped the storm. "I'm going  
to go into town," he decided. "I'll call the hospital and maybe try  
to get hold of Stevie Hunter."  
  
        "And get Sam to fly over to Four Freedoms Plaza," added Storm.  
"Hopefully he can still manage it. Dr Richards will be able to loan  
us medical equipment. Oh. And you had better call Moira. Be careful  
how you break the news to her. Everyone else can wait."  
  
        Alex departed. Verity found an upturned chair and set it   
straight, then offered it to Ororo. "You look exhausted," he told her.  
  
        "I am," she confessed, sitting down. "Thank you."  
  
        There wasn't another chair in useable condition, so Verity   
perched on the edge of a desk.  
  
        "Charles has never mentioned you," said Ororo casually.  
  
        "You can check my credentials with Dr MacTaggart if you wish,"  
replied Verity."She knows me, albeit not well. Now Charles is gone, I'm  
the only person to have met all of the Mutant Underground. You have  
inherited my services. If you can trust me."  
  
        Ororo sighed heavily and rolled her head back. Her neck clicked,  
and she remembered again how sore it had been since morning, after  
sleeping last night in a chair in Charles' room. "I hope I can trust  
you," she said wearily. "I have made too many mistakes before. It was  
I that first trusted Gambit, and you see what has become of that. It  
would have been better if I had relied on my first instincts."  
  
        There was no noise. Nothing from above, where the world was  
crisp and clear from the storm. Nothing from the infirmary; tears had  
become choked, whispered words ran out, the sleeping made no sound.  
Nothing from the dead.  
  
        "What do your instincts say of me?" asked Verity.  
  
        She looked him over. He was younger than Charles, perhaps in his  
forties, though his skin was a little weathered by travel. His cotton  
suit also marked him as someone come from a different climate. He had  
yet to return home since Cairo. Home, his accent indicated, was England.  
She looked into his eyes, which were brown and open and kind, and   
looked at his face which was honest and handsome and strong, and   
stopped looking, because she knew she was beginning to search too hard.  
She shut her eyes, breathed in, breathed out, discarded all prejudice  
from her mind, and put her faith in her soul.  
  
        "Yes," she decided. "Yes, I can trust you."  
  
 - - - -   
  
      "No." insisted Laura adamantly, rising to her feet emphatically.   
"No, I will not do this." Lilith sat watching her colleague with cold   
regard. Laura DeWinter returned the favour, her green eyes agate hard.  
  
      "This is very important, Laura," Lilith stated calmly. Nothing had  
ever been known to make her raise her voice, though she was clearly as  
angry now as she had ever been. "Nathaniel's future is at risk. I am   
asking you to be his salvation."  
  
      Laura just looked at her.  "And I have said I will not do it."  
  
      "I hope you have given this matter the fullest consideration,   
Laura..."  
  
      "Be assured that I have.  And that in this matter my reasons are my  
own.  They have no connection to our mutual work.  This is my *private*   
concern."  
  
      "You and Nathaniel go back a very long time, Laura," Lilith  
pointed out. "You've known each other for decades."  
  
      Laura looked at Lilith calmly, while seething inside. As far as she   
knew, Lilith was not supposed to know how old she was. Laura looked   
young, pretty, some would say even virginal.  
  
       Others might say she looked deadly. It all depended on the light.   
Still, it was hardly a great surprise if Lilith did know. Lilith knew   
more than any of them about the sum total of Onslaught's operations,   
especially where Sinister was concerned.  
  
      "I will leave now." said Laura. "It makes no difference how long  
we discuss this, my answer will remain unchanged.  If it matters, I  
think this is a worthwhile endeavour, but I will not become involved   
in it.  On the other hand, I will not act against it.  One final thought,   
in parting; consider Gravemoss."  
  
      "Gravemoss is still on the low curve of the Winding Way, Laura. He  
has yet to recover from his experiences with the daughter of Margali   
Szardos."  
  
      "Then wait for him to advance." Laura closed her eyes and informed  
her servants of her desire to leave.  With a rushing of air to fill the   
void, she teleported away. Lilith would have to resort to other means. She  
left the room and walked along the corridor to her own office, where McCoy  
had long since given up waiting. A little yellow note stuck to her door   
informed Lilith that Clarissa had taken him on a guided tour of the   
facilities. Lilith went to her desk and dialled a number on her speaker   
phone. Whilst it was ringing she switched on her computer and began to do   
some searching.  
  
        "Hmm?"  
  
        "George?" asked Lilith.   
  
        "Lilith! How are you?"  
  
        "I'm fine. Have I disturbed you?"  
  
        "No no. I was just making myself a sandwich. I seem to be   
completely out of cheese. It really is most traumatic. What can I help  
you with Lilith?"  
  
        "I need your vote, George."  
  
        "You do? And how's the voting going thus far?"  
  
        "Laura is in opposition. Clarissa will consent. Gravemoss will   
also consent, I will make sure of that. All I need is one more vote to  
secure my proposal."  
  
        "Surely Nathan always votes with you?"  
  
        "This vote is about Nathaniel."  
  
        "I see. Oh yes, of course. Today was the X-Men episode, yes?"  
  
        "Yes."  
  
        "In that case I think you'd better tell me what I'm voting on,  
Lilith. This does all sound rather important."  
  
        "I want to sever Nathaniel's contract with Apocalypse through  
whatever means necessary."  
  
        "Ah. I see." He paused to give the matter a little thought. "Well.  
I think I had better give you my full support my dear."  
  
        "Thank you George. Do enjoy your sandwich."  
  
        "I've sent someone out for cheese, so it should be fine. I'll see  
you later, Lilith."  
  
        "Goodbye George."  
  
        The line went dead. Lilith's eyes remained fixed on the computer  
screen. She had just located the two people she was looking for. Gravemoss,  
and the man ahead of him on the Winding Way. She stood up and went to  
get her coat from the back of her office door. It was only then that she  
noticed she had never actually taken it off. She then left the room to go  
and find Clarissa Trask, and take a trip to Minsk.  
  
 - - - - -   
  
        When the ambulance took Jean away, Scott and Rachel decided they   
wanted to go with her. Logan was not yet conscious, though they knew he  
would have wanted to go as well. As did Ororo, but she felt it was wiser  
to stay.   
  
        "I can't believe this has happened," said Stevie Hunter as she  
watched the ambulance drive away. "After everything you've all been  
through, after all the times you've beaten death, I thought the X-Men  
were indestructible." She looked up at Alex's stern and unmoving  
profile.  
  
        "We were indestructible, Stevie," he replied. "Until today."  
  
        She couldn't quite tell if he was being strong, or just trying to  
appear strong, as if it were expected of him. Either way she knew he could  
take care of himself, and her heart and hands were required below ground.  
She glanced up briefly as an angel flew overhead.  
  
        Warren was making circles in the sky, sweeping across the mansion  
grounds, checking to see if any of Sinister's forces were still hidden  
somewhere. There was no sign. Down below was Psylocke, hunting amongst  
the trees, scanning the area telepathically. The psionic fog had   
dissipated with Sinister's defeat, and Holocaust's astral presence had  
gone with it.  
  
        "There's no one," claimed Warren, flying down to join her. He  
smiled at her pathetically, and took her in his arms to hug her. She stood  
cold in his embrace, frowning. "Don't worry Bets. We'll get through this."  
  
        Her thoughts were not with him. She didn't know where they were.  
She was confused. She felt as if she had just woken up in a strange place  
and she didn't know how she had got there. Trouble was, that strange place  
was her own body. Or not her own body. That was the problem.  
  
        "Betsy?" he prodded.  
  
        "Mmm?" she replied. Then she laughed, just briefly, and smiled.  
Then she embraced him. "I love you, Warren," she said.  
  
        "I love you too, Betsy."  
  
        She closed her eyes, and she held him tightly.  
  
        Storm envied them their moment of peace. She had come back above  
ground to breathe the clean air. The air conditioning was not working  
anymore. She also had to collect linen from the wreckage to make up  
some beds for the night. The sun was almost gone now. She knew no-one would  
sleep well this night, but they at least deserved the opportunity. It  
was frightening, to sift through the wreckage of so many years. There  
were little things, like Remy's playing cards still flipping through  
the ruins on a gentle breeze, and important things, like the holoempathic  
crystal of the Phoenix, glowing gently in the dirt. She held a scrap  
of paper in her hands, showing a sketch of an eight pointed star crossed  
by two double headed spears. A memento from the days when the world  
believed the X-Men were dead. This time it felt as if they actually were.  
She'd also come across a beaded wall hanging of an eagle which had hung  
in Charles Xavier's study. It had originally belonged to John Proudstar.  
  
        "We survive," she told herself. "That is what we do. We live in a   
world that wishes us dead, but we refuse. We survive."  
  
 - - - -   
  
        There was only one feature in the blue room. The blue room was   
round, and blue, and there was nothing in it except a door, at the top of  
which was a closed vent. The vent was the only way one could tell just  
where the door was. There had been some blood in the blue room earlier  
today, when Lilith had arrived with her three guests, but someone had  
been in to clean up, and now it was only blue again. It had not been  
used since Lilith's return. That was about to change with the arrival  
of the seventh member of the Onslaught elite.  
  
        He wore black riding boots over black trousers. His long tailcoat  
was dark brown suede. His hair was blond and cropped ruthlessly short,  
and he was wearing small, dark, rounded sunglasses. He took them off  
and slipped them into his jacket. His eyes were unnaturally blue, because  
his eyes were unnatural. That was also the reason why his hands were dull  
grey. He was a cyborg. Clarissa called him Don or Donny, but nobody else  
had the gall. He was Donald Pierce, head of Cybernetics.  
  
        As he teleported into the blue room the displaced air forced open  
the vent. Then the door itself swung open, and a peroxide blonde in an all  
pink suit entered, carrying a small blue clipboard.  
  
        "Good evening Mrs Cadmus," said Donald.  
  
        "Good evening Mr Pierce. Could you just sign here, for the  
teleportation ledgers?"  
  
        "Ledger!" muttered Pierce. "Fremont's bureaucracy is intolerable."  
  
        "If we don't keep the budgets in good order it means less  
money for your department Mr Pierce."  
  
        Pierce brushed her aside and walked out into the adjoining  
reception room. "Can I ask the nature of your visit to the Sheaf Key  
Facility, Mr Pierce?" asked Mrs Cadmus.  
  
        "I have an appointment with Miss Trask."  
  
        "I'm afraid Miss Trask has left the facility with Dr Fremont. Your  
meeting must have slipped her mind."  
  
        Pierce snorted. It didn't surprise him in the least. "Will she  
be back soon?"  
  
        "Perhaps. She didn't say."  
  
        "Fine. Then I'll find some other way to amuse myself. Is Swan  
around?" he asked gruffly, not pausing in reception but striding onwards  
into the broad, tall, central chamber of Sheaf Key. "Page Swan and tell  
him I'm coming down to the prison level," he ordered. There was a large   
staircase on one side of the plaza, leading down. He headed directly   
towards it. He walked down the staircase and emerged onto a metal  
walkway overlooking rows and rows of old model Sentinels. Sentinels had  
almost been the death of him once, when he had been a less senior  
Onslaught operative working in Australia. He was a changed man now;  
they had slightly re-engineered his personality when forced to rebuild  
his body, and had succeeded in making him just a little easier to work  
with, though Clarissa managed quite admirably to agitate his manner at  
every given opportunity. As far as he was concerned, she was in good  
need of some harsh discipline. Since he couldn't take out his anger on  
her, he would find another outlet for his tension. That, after all, was  
the only reason he could see for keeping prisoners.  
  
        He finally reached an elevator that took him directly down to the  
prison levels, the very pits of Sheaf Key. He was met by a muscular white  
South African man dressed all in grey and black. This was Swan.  
  
        "We have a new prisoner in Twelve," announced Swan. "Remy LeBeau.  
We have been told that he may not be harmed at this time."  
  
        "Really?" said Pierce. "And what of the other X-Man?"  
  
        "She is in cell Twenty, sir. She has the child with her."  
  
        Pierce smiled. "Marvellous," he said. "I think a little mental  
cruelty will suffice for today, then."  
  
 - - - -   
  
        Rogue sat in the darkness of her cell clad in a one piece body  
suit, a small implant tucked behind her left ear, robbing her of her  
mutant powers. She had been here for weeks now. Sometimes they took her  
out for experiments; they were trying to find a way to replicate the  
Kree physiology in their own agents. Her only comfort in all this time   
had been the little baby boy whose name and origins they had never told  
her, whom they gave her for companionship for a few hours everyday. She  
didn't understand why. Perhaps it was to torment her because she knew  
she could never have a child of her own, or perhaps it was to warn her not  
to try and escape, because there were other lives at stake. Maybe they  
just didn't have the time or the inclination to look after a crying  
child. He did not cry with Rogue.  
  
        At the moment he was sleeping in her arms. Her hands, uncovered,  
incapable of robbing his life as they might have done without the  
implant, caressed the child's head, and she kissed him gently on the  
brow.  
  
        The door slid open. It was Pierce and Swan.  
  
        "The boy must go back to his father," declared Pierce, taking  
the child from her arms. She was too weak with drugs to resist him,   
though she did try.   
  
        "Who is the father?" asked Rogue, who had never heard him  
mentioned before.  
  
        "He has only recently arrived at this facility to claim his son,"  
explained Pierce, his eyes glowing strongly in the dim light. "He has   
never been a very attentive father. The boy's name is Bernard. He is the  
bastard son of Remy LeBeau."  
  
        Rogue was stunned. Pierce smiled in satisfaction as he looked  
at the shattered expression on her young face. The baby, made restless   
by the cold metal of Pierce's arms, awoke and began to cry. Pierce took  
him away.  
  
 - - - -   
  
        The moon shone down on Westchester as Ben Grimm levelled the  
dangerous ruins of the mansion into the invisible net of Susan Richards.  
Reed and Johnny were below, helping the wounded, as was everyone else.  
Except Marie, who didn't feel she was much use to anyone.  
  
        It all seemed hopeless to her. Following her traumatic experiences  
she found she had to focus to make the world look right, to stop it   
deforming into stark crystalline shapes. The shapes were too sharp, too   
clean, and she didn't want to live in such a geometrical world. Measured   
edges and calculated angles; everything odds and evens. Blacks and whites.   
Heroes and villains. Living and dead.  
  
        In that world, she was one of the dead. She belonged with Bishop  
and Jean Grey and the Professor. In that world she was one of the villains;  
she was the last of the Acolytes, and the only X-Man never to have believed  
in Xavier. In the world of shapes, there was space to fit her.  
  
        She was Scanner, because her powers allowed her to measure the   
world in ways other people could not, but in the end it did not balance,  
and she didn't know how to deal with it.  
  
        "I doubt any of us will get much sleep tonight," said Verity,  
walking toward her over the dry grass. "This has been the most awful day  
for everyone."  
  
        "Well I'm sure you'll sleep tomorrow," replied Marie sharply. "I  
don't think I'll ever sleep again."  
  
        "I'm sorry," said Verity. "That was insensitive. Listen, I've had  
a few words with Dr Richards and he intends to have a look at your  
condition. I don't know if he can help, but it's worth a try, don't  
you think?"  
  
        She could never cry again either, and she wanted so much to cry.  
Still, her face betrayed her feelings clearly enough for Verity to see.  
"Oh Christ," she said angrily. "What's the bloody use? I've got no   
illusions Mr Verity. I don't hold out much hope."  
  
        "It looks certain that Magnus will recover from his exertions."  
  
        "There's more to life than Magneto and his bloody crusading," she  
told him. "There's living for a start. I don't give a damn if he does die.  
They can all go to hell for all I care. I've had it with all this  
believing and fighting and all this dying. I want nothing more to do with  
it."  
  
        She began to fade, reducing herself to an invisible form.  
  
        "It doesn't matter," Verity told her. "You can give up if you  
wish. There are others to fight on your behalf. We're willing to die for  
you, Marie."  
  
        She shot him an angry look, then was gone.  
  
        Verity sighed, shrugged, and walked back towards the debris. Marie  
stayed where she was, floating above the ground with her knees pressed to   
her chin. "Oh damn you all," she whispered. "I'll give up when I'm good  
and ready."  
  
 - - - -  
  
        At Harry's Hideaway, Jack Wyndham was collecting glasses. It had  
been a strange day, what with the incident with the mugger and the man  
in the car, and after some thought he had decided not to involve the  
police, at least not unless the mugger actually turned up dead. But from  
the look of things he had been a mutant, and he seemed to be twitching  
back to life even as Jack had left him, despite the bullet wounds and  
broken bones. Jack didn't really want to get involved with mutants.  
  
        Now he was back at work, back to the normal routine. Hopefully  
nothing more would come of it, and Jack would just carry on as if it had  
never happened. What does it matter to him what else goes on? All he  
was looking for was an ordinary life.  
  
 - - - -  
 The End.  
 - - - -  
  
 Coming next in X-Writers: Sorrow's End. The funeral for Charles Xavier,  
and a new beginning for our mutant heroes.      


	38. X-Men #57

X-Writers is a non-profit organisation. Many of the characters and  
places featured in this story are copyright of Marvel Entertainments.  
  
==========================================  
X-Men #57  
Sorrow's End: A Ghost Of My Former Self.  
Written by Andrew Wheeler and Marty Blase  
==========================================  
  
  
# Asteroid M #  
  
    It was a tall window with a pointed arch; the sort you might find  
in a church. However, this one was framed in metal, and was several feet  
thick, separating the small bedchamber of Magnus Lehnsherr from the vast  
expanses of space. Looking out at the stars he was reminded of his mother.  
His mother who had told him stories, about God and the world, back when  
they were living happily in Poland.  
  
    "At night," she would tell him, "You can see glimpses of God. God  
is a great light, a wonderful light, the most beautiful thing you will  
ever see, and his light is truth, and his light is love, and yet we can  
only see glimpses. Only glimpses, because the dark shadow of the sins of  
the world stretches out across the sky. A big, black, terrible shadow. The  
only people who can break through the shadow and reach God are the honest  
men, the good men, the ones who follow God.  
  
    "Every time a good man dies, his spirit flies up between the  
planets and punches through the darkness, leaving a hole, and through that  
hole, God shines down on earth. Those are the stars, Erik. Every star is a  
hole in sin, and every hole is a man gone to God. So every night if we are  
awake, we can look up at the sky and be reminded of the glory and greatness  
of God. And every night if we are asleep, God is watching down on us,  
protecting us in our dreams." She would look up at the stars, and he would  
look up with her, her arm pressing him tight to her body with love, and  
he would complain that there were not enough stars, so there could not be  
enough good men gone to God. "The longer you look, the more stars you will  
see," she told him, and he looked longer and he saw it was true. "But you  
are right," she would add, "There are not enough good men gone to God."  
Then she would kiss him on the cheek and send him off to bed, and wait for  
his father to come home.  
  
    She was murdered at Auschwitz.  
  
    His father did not tell him stories, and did not approve of his  
mother telling him stories. His father told stories to other people, to  
adults. He told stories about the broken universe, the sephirotic tree, the  
Book of Splendour. They were the same stories as his mother told, but  
he told them because he wanted the world to learn, and she told them  
because she wanted her son to learn, and she did not tell them the same  
  
way his father did, and she often changed things to make the stories  
better. She was not an educated woman, and did not understand how old  
and valuable these stories were. She was scalded by her husband, who  
would tell her not to twist his son's mind, not to tell him untruths  
which would only confuse him. It was a sacred lesson he must keep, for  
he was to follow his father in preaching.  
  
    Still, Erik preferred his mother's stories, and they encouraged  
him to love God far more than the teachings of his father's kaballah  
could ever have done. God was wonderful and beautiful and perfect.  
  
    Then suddenly, God was dead. God died with his parents in the death  
camps, in the gas beneath the ground behind the barbed wire fences. The  
young boy Erik died there too, and a young man named Magnus emerged, and  
he learnt a different religion to his parents, and he followed a different  
crusade. Still, he did not forget all their lessons. From his father he  
embraced the concept of a broken universe.  
  
    From his mother he learnt that we all need someone to protect us  
in our dreams.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# The Xavier Institute #  
  
    Rachel Summers didn't want to talk about it.  
  
    She didn't have anyone in particular in mind, of course. No one else   
even was around this part of the forest to bother her about it. For that   
matter, she wasn't even sure what "it" was. But she knew without a doubt   
that she didn't want to deal with anyone else asking her about it, and   
that was enough.  
  
    And so she had removed herself as far as she could from what   
remained of the Mansion, which was really only the sub-levels and   
basement, and had spent the last hour or so wandering the woods beyond   
them. The injuries she'd sustained when Sugarman had exploded their   
Blackbird had healed quickly -- a talent she had partly inherited from   
Logan, her biological father -- and since Hank didn't seem to need any   
more assistance in the infirmary, she was left to go about her own   
business. And for most of that time she had been trying to decide exactly   
what "it" was that she wanted to avoid discussing with anybody.   
  
    Was it Scott, she wondered? No, she had felt comfortable enough   
around him while they were living together aboard Asteroid M, though it   
was true she hadn't told him about her true parentage yet. Jean? No,   
Rachel had confronted her mother's death once already in her own future.   
Knowing she was laying in the hospital with a dead mind was painful, but   
she was coping. Xavier? No, that wasn't it either. She was upset about   
his death, of course, but Xavier had always been a source of frustration   
in her life as much as one of consolation. After all, that was exactly   
the reason she had chosen to live on Asteroid M after her escape from the   
timestream instead of returning to Excalib....    Kitty.           
      
    Xavier was only half the reason she had stayed on the Asteroid since   
her return, she knew. Kitty had been the other half.    
  
    God, she thought with sudden clarity, what am I going to say to Kitty?  
      
    Being adrift in the timestream for so long had given Rachel views of   
the universe no one else would ever see. From Earth to the Shi'ar to   
Galactus and back again, her brain had been filled with sights and events   
more wild and alien than even the X-Men could believe. The experience, no   
doubt, would have driven almost anyone else mad.       
  
    And so, to keep herself sane, she'd paid special attention whenever   
she caught a glimpse of her own past or future, or those of her family or   
friends. Most of it was mundane, trivial, but it had helped keep her   
focused. It reminded her of where she had come from, of what *reality*   
was. And it gave her hope.      
  
    And then she had finally seen Kitty.  
  
    Or was it Kate? That was the worst part, she reflected, not knowing   
where or when those events would occur. It *felt* like the near future,   
but it might be years down the road. Or it might be just a few months   
away. Or, of course, it might never come to pass at all, and Rachel's   
return had somehow changed the future yet again.      
  
    She ought to warn Kitty, of course. She knew that, consciously. She   
had always been Rachel's best friend in this time, and she owed her that   
much. But what could she possibly say? "Hi, Kitty. Sorry I haven't come   
to visit since I returned from the timestream, but there's something I   
need to tell you. You see, sometime in the near future I think I'm going   
to be directly responsible for your...."       
  
    No.  
      
    Rachel swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Then she sat down on a   
nearby rock and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to clear the   
thoughts from her mind. Just think of something else, she thought,   
anything else. Like when you have a song that you can't stop humming.   
Focus on something else....       
  
    She opened her mind and let her telepathy flow outward, looking to   
see who else was on the grounds. Just to check up, she decided. Kind of   
like counting sheep. Look, there's Scott, and Ororo, and Sam in the   
Danger Room, and Bobby, and Warren and Betsy outside, and....     
  
    ...Now who could that be? she wondered.  
      
    A new thought pattern, one she didn't recognize at all, was   
approaching the estate on foot. But she couldn't read a name or a face,   
at least not with a quick surface scan. And the psychic shields that were   
blocking her felt like the kind Jean trained people to use.     
  
    So it was probably a friend. But maybe it wasn't. Surely no enemy   
would try attacking the mansion single-handedly on foot, but it never   
hurts to make sure.      
  
    She launched herself into the air telekinetically and flew up above   
the treetops, then pinwheeled and dove across the sky toward the entry   
gates.    
  
    At least, she thought, it would be someone to talk to.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# Asteroid M #  
  
    She couldn't look at herself in the mirror, because as an astral  
entity she had no light to reflect. She did not need a mirror, though,  
because astral forms construct themselves from the mind. She could feel  
her appearance, she did not need to see it.  
  
    Standing in the centre of the largest chamber on Asteroid M,  
looking in on her own slender young form, clad in the costume of an  
Acolyte, she decided she was not happy. The costume began to change,  
flowing like liquid about her so that the boots slipped down into shoes,  
a skirt uncoiled from her legs and wrapped around them and climbed  
her body to rise around her breasts, her shoulder pads running down  
her arms and streaming from her fingers into oblivion, sucking away her  
sleeves and gloves with them. The band vanished from her hair, which shook  
out into an elegant bob. Her legs lengthened, her waist drew in and her  
curves grew out, her lips glistened and diamonds appeared on her ears,  
then down 'round her neck. She smiled as honest a smile as she could  
make, but it was weak. Her smile was the only true thing on her.  
  
    A fur stole snaked about her neck and she held it close, though  
it offered no warmth. Then the stole rippled down in a wave to cover her  
body like a mink cocoon. She looked around at the cold metal walls and  
decided that they would not do. If she was to indulge herself, she could  
not do it here. The walls faded away, and were replaced by a vast and  
impressive ballroom, the ceiling stretching up, dripping crystal  
chandeliers, gold gilt edges everywhere, and a stage at the end for the  
orchestra. It was Paris, the most romantic city in the world, and she  
was in need of some romance.  
  
    "Excuse me madame?"  
  
    The voice spoke to her in French, though she heard it in English.  
It was a grey old man in overalls, carrying a sweeping brush. "Madame,  
you are too early. You are much too early for the ball."  
  
    She looked around her at the empty floor, then down at the  
wizened little man, and smiled, because she could see in his face and in  
his mind, that he thought he was looking at a very beautiful woman. "No,"  
she told him, "I'm not too early. I'm too late. I'm much too late."  
  
    She left Paris behind and returned to the stark, austere greys  
of space. In the process her true form, the body she had died with,  
snapped back into place. The fur coat and the black dress unravelled to  
reveal her costume once more. It was no use lying. She was a ghost to  
the world, and the world was a ghost to her.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# The Xavier Institute #  
  
    Rachel touched down just in front of the closed gates as the young   
  
woman approached. She was wearing a simple leather jacket over a faded   
yellow shirt, with jeans and hiking boots to complete the outfit. Her   
straight blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, not at all unkempt.   
Over both shoulders she carried a well-used backpack, apparently stuffed   
full of spare clothes and packable food. She obviously had come quite a   
long way, but the trip didn't seem to wear on her at all.        
  
    When the visitor stopped a few feet in front from her, Rachel had   
already decided this was definitely not an imminent attack. She extended   
her hand. "Hello, I'm Rachel Summers, telepath and telekinetic   
extraordinaire. And you must be...?"     
  
    "Hi," the young woman replied as she dropped her backpack from one   
shoulder and reached for Rachel's hand. "I'm... whoops." Rachel looked   
down and watched as her hand was pushed away just as the girl tried to   
grip it. She tried again, and missed again. And again.     
  
    "Hang on a second... there," she said as she finally gripped Rachel's   
loose hand and shook it. "Sally Blevins, owner and user of one permanent   
and sometimes unmanagable frictionless force field. Call me Skids." She   
released her grip. "Sorry about that, by the way. I've had my field   
turned on all day to keep the mosquitoes off."      
  
    Rachel was unbothered; by X-Men standards, this sort of thing was   
pretty much normal. "Pleasure to meet you," she said. "Anything I can   
help you with now that you're here? You look like you've come quite a   
long way."      
  
    "I have, believe me," Skids answered. "I was looking for Cyc... for   
Scott Summers, sorry. Does he still live here? Or Hank McCoy, or Jean   
Grey maybe?"     
  
    "Yes on all three counts," Rachel replied. "Well, two and a half, I   
suppose."   
  
    "I beg your pardon?"  
      
    "Sorry. It's been that kind of a week. C'mon in," she said as she   
telekinetically lifted the lock inside the gates and swung them open.   
"After you. You must be one of the students from Scott's X-Factor days,   
right? I thought I recognized those psi-shields."     
  
    "That's me. Spent a little time with the New Mutants after that, then   
with the Mutant Liberation Front under protest, and until recently with   
the Acolytes. I've been... well, visiting people around New York since   
then. I figured it was finally time to come here, to decide where I'll go   
next."       
  
    "You wanted to talk to Scott first, you said?"  
  
    "Yeah, if he's here. Thanks," Skids added as the gates clanged shut   
behind them. They walked together down the road toward what remained of   
the Mansion. "Wow, I had no idea... was there a fight? I saw the Mansion   
when it was wrecked after Inferno, but somehow this looks like it was   
worse...."      
  
  
    "Yeah, you could say that," Rachel sighed. "Mister Sinister decided   
to come back and make a whole new mess of everything and everyone. We're   
still recovering, in a lot of ways." she dropped her head, waiting for   
Skids to say something else. When she didn't, Rachel added, "Professor   
Xavier is dead."       
  
    "Oh, my... I, I didn't know." They walked a few more steps, then   
Skids stopped. "I'm sorry, my timing is just awful here. I... I know what   
the Professor meant to Scott, he won't want to talk to me now. I should   
just...."  
  
    "No, no, it's okay," Rachel reassured her. "It's been a couple of   
days. We're all still getting used to it, but it'll be fine."     
  
    She considered this statement. "Well, just make sure you don't   
mention Jean to him, either. She's... well, she's in a coma. Sort of. But   
that was something different. I'll explain it all later. That is, if   
you're staying....?"     
  
    "I... I might be. That's kind of what I want to talk to Scott   
about."    
      
    They walked a bit further in silence. Then Skids asked, "What about   
Magnus? And Avalon?"    
  
    "Avalon's been renamed Asteroid M, and it's still there. And   
Magneto's still living on it, just without his powers. Exodus is long   
gone, though. That'll probably make you happier. You thinking about   
making a return trip?"     
  
    "Just thinking about it. But without Magnus' or Exodus' powers, that   
might be a bit difficult to manage. You know of anyone else that can move   
people up there?"    
  
    Rachel smiled a little. "I might know one or two people heading that   
way."   
  
 - - - -  
  
# Asteroid M #  
  
    Marie slipped through the wall into Magnus' chamber. He seemed to  
be sleeping, though the lights were still on. With a thought she made the  
lights dim. Because she was presently the sole companion on the Asteroid  
Dr Reed Richards had obliged the X-Men with his aid in making alterations  
to a version of the Cerebro unit, allowing her to interact with the  
computers on the station. For Magnus' sake she could light the hallways,  
cook the meals or administer the medicines. For her own sake she needed  
none of these things, but she had little better to do, and it seemed right  
for her to try and save her second father in a way that could not have  
been possible with the first.  
  
    Dr Richards had also helped double check Dr McCoy's finding after  
an examination of Magneto. Neither of them could quite believe it at  
first. Only a few days ago Magnus had been on the cusp of death, having  
fallen victim to the fatal Legacy virus. Now the disease was gone.  
  
    "Magneto has a unique physiology," McCoy had tried to explain.  
"He is a man with the exceptional ability to channel a force of nature  
through his body. He is, to put it crudely, a walking electro-magnetic  
conduit. During his confrontation with Sinister he pushed himself well  
beyond his limits, which were already being pushed by the virus. Every  
particle of his body was subjected to an incredible amount of radiation;  
he was transformed into a sort of energy battery, if you will. No  
ordinary man would have survived that much closely directed radioactive  
exposure, but it is the nature of his powers that makes him capable  
of such an extraordinary feat. Of course, he's by no means a well man. He  
will certainly need a great deal of medical attention. But at least the  
virus is defeated. He should live."  
  
    Watching him sleep, Marie could see how weak he still appeared.  
Some of his colour had returned to his face, he did not look as terrible  
as he had done when the virus was killing him, but he would still not  
be able to walk for some weeks, and both Richards and McCoy had forbidden  
him to attend the funeral of Charles Xavier. As for his powers, well,  
they weren't at all sure when, or even if, they would return. One of the  
most powerful mutants alive had been reduced to a very human state.  
  
    It was a strange reversal. A few years ago she had been living  
as human a life as anyone could; going to school every day in Glasgow,  
meeting her friends on the bus, chasing after Dean Finney, gossiping  
at the back of the maths room, coming home to mum's spiced fruit loaf  
and a glass of milk and watching TV until dad came home and they could  
all have tea together. Back then the papers had been full of horror stories  
about the menace of Magneto and his cohorts. Inhuman monsters. The British  
press was much more moderate in it's coverage of mutants than the American  
media had ever been, but still, there are only so many ways to paint a  
demagogue. Especially a demagogue without his own press agent.  
  
    Then there had been the day she had got off the bus and walked the  
last few streets to get home and mum had made coconut buns, and someone  
had kicked the door in as they sat around the table and gunned them all  
down. Her mother and her sisters had died, and she had lain there for what  
seemed like hours with her leg trapped under the table and her mother  
lying on top of her. She had screamed and screamed but nobody came, not  
until her father came home from the police station and found them all  
in the blood.  
  
    A few days later he had a relapse. The bronchial cancer hit him  
worse than before, and he went into hospital never to come out again.  
Whilst he was in hospital she went to stay with friends, and one night  
she had a dream, encouraged by borrowed wine, about a wise and handsome  
white haired man, the same man she had seen in the papers, the inhuman man  
who had now announced he was setting up a haven for mutants, an island  
refuge in space called Avalon. She met him in a stark grey corridor, and  
he smiled at her and introduced himself as Magnus Lehnsherr.  
  
    "I am not as wicked as they say I am," he has assured her upon  
seeing her terrified face. "All I want is freedom for my people."  
  
    She had replied, her voice full of awe, "My name's Marie. Marie  
Watson. I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing here, I..."  
  
  
    "You're here for the same reason the others are here. You have  
nowhere else to go. Would you like to join us, Marie?"  
  
    "I'm not a mutant..."  
  
    "You *are* a mutant."  
  
    "I'm just having a dream..."  
  
    "Some dreams are worth having. Join us, Marie."  
  
    She looked up at his face. He didn't look at all like a monster.  
In fact, he looked like a good man, a believer, who had made mistakes.  
Just as her father had made mistakes. His mistakes had cost her dearly,  
but perhaps she could trust again. Perhaps she did need somewhere to go.  
  
    "I don't know," she said, and then it all faded away, and she was  
awake.  
  
    The next day she had come out of school to find a woman with short  
red hair standing at the gate, watching her closely. As Marie drew near,  
the woman held out a hand, and Marie took it. Before she had a chance to  
say a word, she had been transported to Avalon.  
  
    That was months ago now, when she had been human and he had seemed  
inhuman. Now he was humbled, and she was a freak.  
  
    He was definitely sleeping. She could probably afford a little  
time off. She watched the moon rising over the earth through the tall  
church window. There was something she needed to attend to.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# The Xavier Institute #  
  
    "Knock, knock."  
      
    Scott Summers snapped his head up from the couch he'd been napping on   
and looked around the recreation room. It wasn't as large as the upstairs   
lounges had been, but it was still the biggest space in the surviving   
sub-levels, and for the last half hour Scott had had it all to himself.   
He knew it wouldn't last forever, but he was still startled when he   
turned his head toward the door and saw his brother peering through the   
half-open door.        
  
    "Alex! C'mon in, I was just...."  
      
    "Brooding, I know," Alex finished as he stepped into the room. "I   
figured you were ready for a break, so I came to tell you lunch was   
ready. You up for it?"    
  
    "I... umph," Scott started as he sat up. "I think so. Gimme a hand   
here, something's not working right in the legs."    
  
    Alex walked over to the couch, grabbed Scott's wrist and pulled him   
upright. Scott took a few seconds to shake the blood back into his legs.   
  
"Still not recovered from the fight?" Alex asked.     
  
    "What fight? I got hit once by a possessed Bishop and by the time I   
woke up, Gambit, Black Beast, and Sinister had all disappeared and most   
of the X-Men were in the infirmary with me down the hall." Scott grunted   
as he stood straight up and flexed his back. "No, Hank says I'll be fine   
in a few days. I was thinking about the Profes... about Charles."     
  
    Alex grinned a little. "That may be the first time I've ever heard   
you use his first name."   
  
    "It seems easier to, now," Scott answered dismissively.  
  
    "You worried about the funeral?"  
      
    "About the X-Men, actually. I abandoned Charles when we went with   
Magneto to Asteroid M, Alex. And Storm said Sinister used Bishop to... to   
kill him, but that doesn't stop me from thinking I could've been able to   
do something if I'd been here before the attack began." He paced across   
the room slowly. "And now I don't know if I should be here with the   
X-Men, or up in orbit with Magneto, helping him to realize Charles' dream   
in his own way. Either way, I feel like I'm abandoning him, and that   
hurts, Alex. It hurts a lot."         
  
    Alex bit his lip. "Well, if it changes your mind at all, I'm planning   
on going back. So's Rachel, I expect, although I haven't talked to her   
about it yet. And as far as the X-Men go, you know Ororo can lead the   
team by herself. In fact, I hear she's already got a few major changes in   
mind."      
  
    "A reconstruction effort, no doubt." Scott leaned against the far   
wall of the room as he spoke. "You did do a fair job levelling the house   
with that plasma blast of yours."     
  
    "Hey, I was trying to get to Sinister, same as you were. And you did   
a fair bit of damage on the inside yourself, from what I remember," Alex   
replied with a smile. Scott didn't return it.     
  
    "Yeah, we made a heck of a mess, all right," Scott said. "Question   
is, can we do anything to clean it up now? Or do we just... go back to   
where we were, and leave the rest of the team to do the work for us?"     
  
    "I...," Alex began, before giving up with a sigh. Then suddenly he   
said, "All right, Scott, listen a second. I can count on two fingers the   
number of times I've seen you truly happy, and both of them were at your   
weddings. And I think the reason for that is because those are the only   
times in your life you've ever done something to make *yourself* happy,   
rather than to lead the X-Men or X-Factor or to fight one super-menace or   
another. Why do you have to be so responsible all the time, when you know   
full well that it'll only weigh your life down?"    
  
    "Well, that's very supportive of you," Scott said without looking   
around.   
      
    Alex gave up and headed for the door. "Believe it or not, that's   
exactly what I'm trying for. Jean's gone, Scott. Don't throw away what   
  
might be your last chance to be a little bit happy just because you don't   
want to give up your day job."      
  
  
    He swung the door open, walked out into the hall, and yanked it shut   
behind him. A second later it clicked open tentatively, and Rachel peeked   
inside. Scott turned to see who it was, then looked away again.   
"Something I can help you with, Rachel?"     
   
    "There's... there's someone here who wants to talk to you, Scott."  
      
    He looked up.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# Scotland #  
  
    The air smelt of candles, though Marie couldn't know it. She  
walked along between the wooden pews, her appearance modified so that  
she appeared to be dressed in jeans and a sweater, towards a small chapel.  
There was no-one else in the church except for Janie. Janie was the nun  
praying at an Ave Maria in the chapel.  
  
    "Janie," called out Marie softly, the word appearing in Janie's  
head as if she had heard it. She looked up from her prayer and turned  
her head.  
  
    "Marie?" she said, astounded. She quickly made the sign of the  
cross, then paced over to where Marie appeared to be standing. She  
reached out and tried to clasp her hands, but of course, her hands went  
straight through the astral form. "Oh dear God," whispered Janie. "Oh  
sweet lord in heaven." She looked up into Marie's eyes and saw the  
sadness there, and immediately fell silent.  
  
    "Janie, I'm a mutant," she announced.  
  
    Janie said nothing at first, but the look of anguish on her  
face turned slowly into a gentle smile, a sympathetic smile. "A mutant?  
Well there's a thing. Is that why you ran away?"  
  
    "Yes. Well, no. I ran away because... because everything was  
falling apart, Janie. And someone offered me a chance to make it better.  
That's why I ran away. I had to run away."  
  
    "So why have you come back?"  
  
    "To see you. You're all the family I have left, Janie. I thought  
I should come and see you. Ask you to pray for me."  
  
    "I never stopped praying for you," replied Janie. She was about  
to ask another question, but didn't know what to ask first. She had  
not seen Marie for many months now. Not since the funerals of her  
sisters and mother, it seemed. "Did... did you really help Uncle  
John to die, Marie?" she asked eventually.  
  
    "He asked me to," she replied. "I had to. He's my father. I had  
to help him." Again she wanted to cry, but again she could not do it.  
  
    "It's okay Marie, it was the right thing to do. Those machines  
were giving him false life. He was never going to recover," soothed  
Janie. "I'm so glad to see you again. Where did you go?"  
  
    "I joined other mutants. I joined the cause of freedom for  
mutant kind; freedom from hatred and fear. I joined Magneto," explained  
Marie, searching her cousin's face for signs of condemnation, and finding  
none. "He's not evil, you know? He's not such a criminal."  
  
    "Aye, well, it's not for me to condemn him. I don't even know  
him," she said. "And if you can find something good in him, then I trust  
your judgement." Janie sat down at the end of one of the pews and looked  
up. Even though Marie appeared as solid as anything else in the church  
on a cursory examination, looking closer Janie could almost make out the  
flicker of candle flame through her body. "Why can't I touch you?" she  
asked.  
  
    "It's my power. I can send out my... my ghost from my body. Except  
my body was destroyed. I'm dead."  
  
    Janie bowed her head solemnly. "You're not dead, Marie, or you  
wouldn't be talking to me now. I'm not the sort of woman to have visions,"  
she added with a smile. "That happens to more saintly people than me."  
  
    "Do you believe in ghosts, Janie?"  
  
    "I believe in one ghost. I believe in the Holy Ghost, the spirit  
of Christ, who gave up his life so that we might live. You're not gone  
from this earth yet, Marie. You're alive enough to be heard, and that's  
enough to make a difference."  
  
    Marie was not a good Christian. This was her first time inside a  
church for a long while. Still, she believed in Janie, who had always  
been kind to her, and who always knew how to reassure her. Janie was  
convinced of her faith, and had the power to convince others -- not of her  
faith, but of themselves. Janie had given up everything for what she  
believed in.  
  
    "What do you miss?" asked Marie.  
  
    "Miss?"  
  
    "About your old life. What do you miss?"  
  
    "Oh I miss a lot of things," replied Janie. "I used to love  
watching TV, but we don't have one of those. And the food isn't too good  
here either. I'd love a McDonalds," she laughed. "And I suppose I miss  
my friends. I miss the people I love. I miss you."  
  
    "Do you ever want to... do you never feel you have to hold  
someone again? Don't you want someone to... touch you once in a while?"  
  
    Janie blushed, more for Marie, who was feeling ashamed to ask the  
question, than for herself, since she felt little embarrassment. "No, Marie.  
My life is a happy one. I want for nothing. The things I miss, I can  
do without. You see, for all those things, for all the wonderful things in  
life, my old life was lacking in meaning. Now, I have a purpose. I  
have a direction; a vocation. I can't think of a single thing I would  
swap for that."  
  
    Marie contemplated her cousin, in her dark costume, and this  
old, ornate building that housed her beliefs, and reached out to feel  
Janie's happiness. It was true. Janie was at peace. Marie tried to  
take in some of that wonderful contentment, she tried to make it her  
own. Yet it was not right for her, and it slipped free from her grasp. For  
a moment, though, she felt it. Devotion. Love. She could be happy  
again.  
  
    "Thank you Janie," said Marie. "I'd better go now."  
  
    "Will you come back to me?" asked Janie.  
  
    "You're the only family I've got."  
  
    "No," replied Janie. "I'm not. But that doesn't mean you should  
forget me," she said. "I'll pray for you."  
  
    "Thank you, Janie."  
  
    Marie faded and was gone, and Janie returned to the chapel to  
fulfil her promise once more.  
  
 - - - -  
  
# The Xavier Institute #  
  
    "So, where've you been lately?" Scott asked. He sat down on the couch   
next to Skids. "Looks like you've done more than your share of   
travelling."    
  
    Skids shrugged. "A little here, a little there. First place we went   
was back to the Morlock tunnels, but they were just as empty as I thought   
they'd be. Then we spent some time trying to see if I could track down my   
father, maybe find out what's happened with him since I ran away from   
home. No luck there. Peter -- Colossus -- he went his own way after that,   
when I suggested we come here to try and figure out our next move." She   
took a deep breath. "I don't know where he was going, I'm afraid. I was   
hoping he might come here on his own, but...."     
  
    "We haven't seen anything of him so far, but that doesn't mean he's   
not coming. But one thing at a time." Scott folded his hands and rested   
his elbows on his knees. "What did you want to talk to me about?"     
  
    "About... well, about Avalon. Or Asteroid M, Rachel called it. I want   
to go back."     
  
    A short pause. "You too, hm?"  
      
    "I'm sorry?"  
      
    "Rachel, Scanner, my brother Alex, and now you, too. Seems like I'm   
the only one who's even thinking about it first. And frankly, it feels   
like a lose-lose situation."     
  
    Skids shook her head. "Wait a minute -- I had no idea. You've been   
living up there lately? With Magnus? When did you leave the X-Men?"     
  
    "I... well, I didn't exactly leave. Originally I was there as a spy   
for Charles. But after a while I guess I just came to the same conclusion   
you did: that Magneto -- Magnus -- just had a better solution to our   
problems."     
  
    Skids cocked her head and grinned, very slightly. "Now, that's the   
last thing I would've ever expected to hear from you. I remember, back in   
your X-Factor days, the way you talked about Magnus when he was charge of   
Xavier's school here. 'Never a kind word' was the phrase Rusty used."  
  
    "I remember. But he'd changed -- a lot -- since the X-Men's early   
encounters with him. And so had Xavier. And after a few weeks of living   
on Magnus' space station, I realized he had a better grasp of Charles'   
ideals than Charles did. It was just the implementation that was   
different."      
  
    "Are you sure you're not rationalizing?"  
      
    "I think I'm sure. I know the words don't sound right coming from my   
mouth, but... ah, nuts. I'm sorry, Skids. This is no way to talk about   
Charles, not now...."     
  
    She put her hand on his arm. "I'm... sorry, too, Scott. I know how   
much Xavier meant to you here." She paused. "But... you mentioned how   
much Magnus had come to understand Xavier's ideals. Is that the only   
reason you stayed with him?"     
  
    "No... no, it wasn't." Scott took a deep breath. "Like I said, his   
ends were the same, but his means still didn't feel quite right. I   
suppose I wanted to try and work with him, to change those means in order   
to preserve the ultimate goal. Charles wanted to unify humankind and   
mutantkind, but the school, the Mutant Underground, did more to isolate   
us and increase fear than anything else could have.        
  
    "When Warren first suggested, all those years ago, that we start   
X-Factor by posing as mutant-hunters in order to find new students, I   
should have realized what a failure that was going to be. But I wanted to   
try and follow Charles' ideal of a school for young mutants, like you.   
Even more, I wanted to avoid having any connection with a Magneto-led   
team of X-Men. But then the X-Men became martyrs in Dallas, and X-Factor   
became heroes after we saved New York as mutants, rather than as mutant   
hunters.    
  
    "Then, when Magneto reappeared leading the first batch of Acolytes, I   
figured I had my proof that leopards don't change their spots. But after   
I spent some time up there myself I realized it was Cortez and Exodus   
that were pushing him into the 'evil villain' mode. All Magnus had ever   
really wanted was to set up an... an independent nation, of sorts, where   
mutants could go to live in protection. Just like the Xavier's School, I   
suppose, except that he wouldn't try and hide who they were. He'd just   
protect them. And for both the mutants aboard and the humans down here,   
it seems to have worked. Strange, I guess, but true."  
  
    Skids looked at his face. "So you feel like Magnus has gotten   
Xavier's dream right where you got it wrong? Is that it?"    
  
    "I...." Scott swallowed hard. "Yeah, I guess that's exactly it."  
      
    "Then maybe you don't have that much to think about after all." She   
stood up. "Rachel said she'd take me shopping after lunch so I can get   
something to wear for the funeral. Care to come up and eat with the rest   
of us before then?"     
  
    "I'll be right there. And Skids?" He stood up and put his hands in   
his pockets. "Thanks."    
  
    Skids opened the door and smirked at him. "Don't mention it," she   
said simply, and stepped out.   
  
    Scott rubbed the back of his head and smiled to himself. Then, after   
thinking over the conversation a little more, he walked over to the door   
and opened it. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, this could be a win-win   
situation after all.    
  
 - - - -  
   
 # Asteroid M #  
  
    Magneto was awake now, but he had not moved from his bed. He  
was deep in contemplation. Marie entered the room -- through the wall, as  
always. "Are you hungry, Magneto?"  
  
    "No," he told her. "Not for the time being. Come here, Marie.  
I would like to talk to you." She came closer, crossing the floor as  
she would normally have done were she solid. "Is it the funeral today?"  
he asked.  
  
    "No sir. The funeral is tomorrow."  
  
    He sighed to himself. There had been too many funerals, and he  
felt as if he had missed them all. "When are the X-Men returning?" he  
asked.  
  
    "They didn't say."  
  
    "Do you think they will return at all?"  
  
    Marie hesitated. She hadn't given it any thought. Of course, with  
Xavier gone, maybe the X-Men would be fearful of Magneto. Maybe they would  
not want to return at all. Magneto must be in worried for his cause. She  
was the last of the faithful. There was no-one else.  
  
    "Of course they will return," Magneto said with a smile, after she  
had hesitated too long. "Perhaps not to me, but to the fight. I suppose that  
will do."  
  
    She was afraid for him now. She wasn't about to give up on him,  
and she damned well didn't want to see him give up on her. "So what  
will you do, if they don't come back?" she asked.  
  
    He laughed. "Marie, if they don't come back, then it's up to us," he  
said with a smile. "We'll just have to start again."  
  
    The universe is a broken place, and it seems that nothing is  
certain. Nothing except faith. With faith comes a little certainty, and  
with certainty, a little peace.  
  
 - - - -  
 The End.  
 - - - -  
  
 Next Issue: Scott and Rachel take some time out for a family  
 reunion on the astral plane. Until, of course, someone nasty   
 decides to crash the party....  
  



	39. Uncanny X-Men #338

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set after Excalibur #100

X-Writers is a non-profit making organisation. Several of the characters,  
places and plots featured in this story are the legal property of Marvel.  
  
\----------  
 Uncanny X-Men #338              
 Sorrows End  
 Live Forever  
 Part 1 of 3.  
 Written by Andrew Wheeler          
 Thanks to the other X-Writers for their patience and help.  
\----------  
  
 Ororo Munroe:      
  
    I seem to have woken very late this morning. That is not usual  
for me. Already the grounds are alive with activity as they prepare for the  
funeral. It looks like being a beautiful day. Good. I would prefer not to have  
to interfere, and I could not stand a funeral in the rain.          
  
    Yesterday was terrible. It did not rain, yet all through Bishop's  
funeral there was some promise of it in the dark heavy clouds overhead.  
The ceremony was poorly attended, I think because people believed it  
would be disrespectful to Charles. Of course, I think they all understand  
that it was not Bishop's fault. He was a victim, as are we all. Logan was  
there, of course, as was Pietro, whom I asked to accompany me, and he  
was good enough to do so. Betsy stood at some distance, and I am quite  
sure she was weeping. I am not sure who for.  
  
    Today will be very different. Everyone is in attendance. Xavier  
made his mistakes, but he was a man worth remembering, and at heart  
we all know his intentions were the very best. He was a good man. A great  
man. No-one is beyond making mistakes, after all. I have made more than  
a few. Trusting Gambit will count as perhaps the greatest of them, for I was  
the one to bring him into the team even when my every instinct was telling  
me there was something dark within him. Of course, I thought I was being  
a good leader. I blindsided my best instincts with ignorant reason. That is  
not the way of the elements, to ignore the currents and force the winds. I  
have been a poor mistress to Mother Nature. And yet, nature does not  
regret, and neither must I. Time is too precious.  
  
    I should get dressed. I don't even know what I am going to  
wear. Not black, certainly. I have a dark blue dress that I have not worn  
recently. Velvet. I think that would appear decent.  
  
    I wonder where we shall go now. Now that we have decided  
not to rebuild the mansion again, we X-Men must find a new home.  
Sleeping down in the basement levels this past week has been tolerable,  
but it is not a long term solution by any means. I suppose what few  
X-Men remain under my care could go to other teams. No. Just because  
we are not rebuilding the mansion it does not mean we should not rebuild  
 the team. Our inspiration is dead, but we are the core, the heart of his  
dream. We shall continue, just as the others have. We do not need Xavier  
 any more than Excalibur or X-Force do. We all of us owe him the greatest  
debt, but we will learn to survive without his protection, even in this darkest  
of times. We have lost not only Charles, but also Bishop, Jean, Gambit and  
Rogue. Of all of them, only one of them might return, if we can find her. Still,  
we will persevere.          
  
    Oh sweet goddess, how could this happen to us?          
  
    To make things still worse, we now have a new and powerful  
opponent to deal with. Or an old opponent, if Sinister is to be believed.  
This Onslaught organisation that has taken Gambit, and that I suspect  
may have Rogue as well, are potentially the greatest threat we have  
faced in a long time, especially since we know so little about them. We  
need to think of a strategy to deal with this new threat. Our common enemy  
is Apocalypse, yet to contemplate an alliance with either of them is too  
distasteful. We need to find other ways to build our strength.  
  
    The bathroom is in use. Why did Charles only have one bathroom  
installed down here? No matter. I can shower in my room. I see Hank is  
heading above ground. He is wearing a very fine suit, but underneath it he  
is still wearing bandages, and beneath the bandages he still has burns.  
Poor Hank. I am lucky to have emerged from the siege of the mansion  
relatively unscathed.  
  
    My room is quiet and empty. My belongings are in storage.  
The past is a closed chapter now, and I will take what I have learned and  
move on with it, and I will face the future as best I can.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 We must pass like smoke or live forever in the spirit's fire;  
  For we can no more than smoke unto the flame return  
 If our thought has changed to dream, our will unto desire,  
  As smoke we vanish though the fire may burn.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Henry McCoy:  
  
    Ororo is having a late start this morning. I hope she is not  
too troubled. With Charles gone, Magneto disabled and Scott deep in  
mourning she is the one most of them will have to turn to for focus.  
Apart from yours truly of course, and I have other plans. Which reminds  
me, I am late for my meeting with Alice at the boathouse. I seem to have  
made a detour, though. Somehow, without meaning to, I have ended up  
here, at the graveside of Illyana Rasputin. She was, as far as both Charles  
and myself were concerned, the first victim of Legacy. I remember signing  
the death certificate myself. Now she is back from the dead, or some version  
of her is, though I shan't believe it until I see it with my own baby blue eyes.  
She has defeated death, perhaps, but even she could not defeat Legacy.  
Only one man has done that, and his cure would kill any other person.  
We are no closer.  
  
    I would like to think of Illyana's resurrection as a good omen, but  
of course I don't believe in omens, and I know it doesn't really mean a thing.  
To the cure, I mean. To the people who loved her I'm sure it means the world.  
I suppose that also includes myself, though I only really got to know her well  
as the innocent child who spoke no word of English. I wonder what she is like  
now?  
  
    It was with Charles that I started the fight against Legacy. I think  
I may be a little frightened to carry it on without him. Or I may be a little  
relieved. He was a dominating figure, he would always double check my  
observations as if he were still my teacher. Now I can study more freely,  
and yet I can't help but wish he were still there to be my safety net. Now  
everyone will think that I am the leading authority. Oh dear.  
  
    The time has come to start focusing our efforts. I have spoken  
with Moira and she is in concordance with my wishes. Of course, she was  
easy to persuade. I fear if we do not find a cure Moira will be the next to  
follow Charles into death. Perhaps they will prove better company for one  
another in death than they could ever be in life. Or perhaps death is simple  
oblivion, and all their hopes and dreams are done.          
  
    Well since when did I become so maudlin? Come come, McCoy,  
you know full well that it is your job to be the eternal optimist. Bouncing.  
Blue by colour, not by nature. Besides, I see Alice up ahead and she's  
very uncomfortable with depression. She seems to be in the company of  
Dr Majcomb. I didn't realise she was coming to the funeral. I assume this  
means the Genoshan authorities are easing up on her freedom of movement.  
Or she's got better at faking a passport.          
  
    They are waving at me, so I had better wave back. Ah, now this is  
a reason to be cheerful; to know there are people in this world willing to  
dedicate their lives to helping others. Saving the world. Which, I suppose,  
is what Charles was all about.       
  
 - - - -  
  
 Under the wide and starry sky      
 Dig the grave and let me lie.      
 Glad did I live and gladly die,      
 And I laid me down with a will.  
 This be the verse you grave for me:  
 "Here he lies where he longed to be;  
 Home is the sailor, home from sea,  
 And the hunter home from the hill."  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Emma Frost:  
  
    I think I am going to scream.  
  
    I thought taking one of these rowing boats and coming out  
here onto the lake would give me a chance to get away from all the  
remorse and guilt and angst, to cut myself off from the noise of the  
rabble, but no, Sean insisted on coming along too, damn him. At least  
it saves me the trouble of rowing, but still, I think I would gladly make  
that sacrifice if it meant I didn't have to listen to him going on all the time.  
The whole point of coming out here was to get a chance to clear my head,  
but instead he seems intent on lecturing me on our new responsibilities  
now Charles Xavier is dead; on how essential it is to do this, on how we  
must never forget to do that, and so on ad infinitum. Thank you Sean, but  
I have been doing this longer than you have, and I think I may have a  
handle on things by now.      
  
    He's blowing all of this out of proportion anyway. So what if  
Xavier is dead? That's the least of the evils of the world from which the  
children needed protecting. My operations were never dependent on  
Charles Xavier, my intentions didn't spring from his dream. He was the  
enemy. In fact, I should be glad he's dead. He wasn't such a great man,  
and this leaves the future in more capable hands. My hands. Without  
interference.  
  
    Oh. Well, there's Sean of course, but he hardly counts. He is  
agreeable to my wishes, and he can be made amenable to my methods.  
Whatever it takes, we must ensure a solid future for the next generation.  
We can't have them screwing it up like the last one. We have to teach  
them to protect themselves above all else. We have to make them strong.  
  
    Stronger. Because the Hellions failed. No, because I failed the  
Hellions. I did not take them far enough, I did not give them everything I  
could. They did not survive as Sam Guthrie, Kitty Pryde, Danielle Moonstar  
and the others have done.  
  
    Oh no.  
  
     Oh God!  
  
    Xavier. That bastard! Where I failed, he succeeded. Where I  
have outlived my students, his have outlived him. What if I fail again?  
What if I have not learnt my lessons, and I am to repeat the same  
mistakes? What if my children die again?  
  
    No, I must not think like that. Xavier is dead and I cannot  
change that, but I suppose I can learn a lesson or two from him. Damn  
him. The priority must be the children, and I must learn to sacrifice my  
pride. I must even learn to listen to Sean. Sometimes. Maybe.  
  
    In the meantime, he had better take me back to shore or we  
shall miss the funeral. But then I suppose he is organising the whole  
affair, so they can hardly start without him. I hope I haven't creased  
my dress sitting in this stupid rowing boat.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 The greed for property  
 Heaps a skyscraper over the breathing ribs:  
 The speedlines of dictators      
 Cut their own stalks:  
 From afar, we watch the best of us -  
 Whose adored desire was to die for the world.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 James Proudstar:  
  
    I don't feel like I'm in the right place here. Whilst Sam and  
Terry and the rest of them are trying to be mournful and respectful and  
supportive, all I can think is that, well, I didn't even know the man. I  
tried to kill him once, but that's about it. He killed my brother. Why  
would I mourn for him? If I was anyone's student I was Cable's, and  
he and Xavier didn't exactly see eye to eye. I don't particularly feel  
like mourning Cable either, if it's true that he's dead. I must be careful  
who I mention that to. Sam said not everyone knows. They want to be  
sure before breaking the news to Cyclops. Trouble is, no-one knows  
how he died. Sam says Rachel Summers "felt" him go. Knowing Cable,  
he just timejumped. Or something.  
  
    Still, the fact remains I don't feel all that moved by any of  
this. Sure, death is sad, and I'll never get over losing John or my tribe,  
but next to them the death of Charles Xavier is pretty meaningless. I  
never even wanted to be one of his extended X-Men family. It was  
John that went off to become the big hero, and it killed him. I didn't  
want to follow him, I wanted to avenge him. Then the Campe Verde  
massacre forced me to hook up with Cable, and before I knew it I was  
there on the same path, and I've never gotten off. If I even knew who  
massacred my tribe I might feel a bit better about it, but now I have  
less idea than I did when I started.  
  
    So now I'm a hero, like almost everyone here. I don't even  
know half their stories, how they all got tangled up with this "dream",  
but I bet they all paint Xavier into a much more favourable role. Even  
Xavier must have had his story. You don't just wake up one morning  
and decide you're going to dedicate your entire life to fighting for the  
rights of mutants. It'd be much easier, even for a mutant with his  
telepathic powers, to just stay quiet, or even to exploit his powers.  
Instead he rallied all these people, and now here they all are to honour  
him.  
  
    Yeah, it would have been real easy not to have got involved.  
Just to pursue your own little vendettas, to go around hurting people,  
getting revenge on the people you hate or blame. Getting up there and  
starting a crusade, that's what takes the real guts. And I was going to  
kill him for it. I was going to slit his throat with a knife, just because he  
was a more honourable man than me.  
  
    "Learn from your mistakes and be a better man, a more human  
being. Therein lies the most fitting memorial to your brother's sacrifice."  
Those were his words, and he was right. So I guess without Xavier I  
wouldn't be who I am, where I am, today. I guess I belong here just as  
much as the rest of them.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Yet, when the walls of flesh grow weak,  
  In such an hour, it well may be,  
 Through mist and darkness, light will break,  
  And all anointed senses see.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Moira MacTaggart:  
  
    Well then...  
  
    Well now...      
  
    Here we all are then.  
  
    Oh hell, there's hundreds of them, all taking their seats already.  
I think I'd just as soon stay in the car. Where's Sean? I'm not getting out  
of this car until Sean comes. We're supposed to be walking with the coffin.  
I want to do this right. I hope we do this right.  
  
    There's two other cars behind me. I don't even know who's in  
there, but I guess it's Gabrielle Haller in one of them. The Israeli flag on  
the bonnet gave that away. I suppose it must be that Shi'Ar floozy in the  
third one then.  
  
    Oh no. A news van. Three news vans. No, wait... oh hell, it looks  
like the whole of the world's media is here and I'm going to look a complete  
bloody mess in front of them all. Let's have a peek in the mirror.  
  
    Christ, I look as pale as anything. All these damned Yanks with  
their Californian tans and here's me looking for all the world like a walking  
corpse. Aye. Now there's a step too close to the truth for comfort.  
  
    I wonder if that evil cow from... from wherever she works is here?  
Hank's girlfriend from the news. I should give her a bloody good slapping if  
I see her, after what she did to me and the whole fight against Legacy. Why  
do people have to be so bloody interfering? Why can't they mind their own  
peace once in a while?  
  
    There's someone stood outside my window talking to themself.  
Who is that? Oh no! Not Gabrielle Haller, please God don't tell me she's  
looking like that! She's so beautiful and elegant and sophisticated. I'm  
going to look like a fishwife next to her. Oh hell, just let me die now.  
  
    And if you're listening God, that was not a serious request.  
Dying on the day of Charles' funeral would not be very good taste, and  
they'd only end up cremating me alongside the poor sod. He died a  
bachelor, it's a tad too late to go changing that.  
  
    Is she talking on a mobile phone? Who's she talking to?  
Jesus Mary and Joseph, the hearse is right there in front of her and  
she's chattering away on her telephone. I don't think that's at all  
respectful. Come to think of it, has that snooty alien queen brought  
her new husband along with her? That would be awful. Oh I hope she  
has! Any excuse to look down my nose at her. Mind you, I don't think  
she'd care. I own a few mangy Scottish hills, she's got a whacking  
great star system. She can probably bear my disdain.  
  
    Sean, Sean, Sean, where've you got to? Don't tell me you've  
forgotten me. Not twice in one lifetime. I want to get on with this. Get it  
over with. The faster we get through it, the more painless it'll be. Said  
the doctor.  
  
    I'd better put some blusher on my cheeks.  
  
    I wonder how Scott is bearing up. My God, he must feel like  
his whole world is gone. His wife is dead, his son is missing, and the  
man who was like a father to him is dead as well. I think I've got it bad,  
I should try being in his shoes.  
  
    Did Rahne ever settle on which psalm she was going to read?  
Where is Rahne? I wish she could be here right now. I could do with a  
little company. What I really need is a hug. What I really need is someone  
to tell me they love me.  
  
    Hurry up Sean, I can't stand this. There's no way I'm getting  
out of this car to make smalltalk with Charles' two old girlfriends. I  
wonder, do they both think I'm just another ex-girlfirend? Is that all that  
I am? God no, I'm worth any number of ambassadors and queens.  
  
    Maybe I could turn on the radio. What happened to my  
chauffeur anyway? I suppose I don't actually need to do any more  
driving now. I just have to make the long walk down the lawn to the  
front row of seats. Did Sean arrange the seating? Would he put me  
next to someone I didn't want to be next to? God, that must be a  
nightmare job, arranging the seating. What would anyone do with 49  
X-Men?  
  
    Does Lockheed even count as an X-Man?  
  
    Of course I can't turn on the radio. That's even worse than  
using a mobile phone. Which, come to think of it, isn't so bad at all.  
Now, having a flat stomach at her age, that's a real disgrace. If Sean  
doesn't come soon I'll get out of this car and swing for her.          
  
     Oh Sean!  
  
    Charles.  
  
    What will I do without you, Charles?  
  
 - - - -  
  
 So be my passing!  
 My task accomplished and the long day done,  
 My wages taken, and in my heart  
 Some late lark singing,  
 Let me be gathered to the quiet west,  
 The sundown splendid and serene,  
 Death.  
   
 - - - -  
  
Continued in part 2.  
  
\----------  
  
 The funeral of Professor Charles Francis Xavier:  
  
    By the time Sean got to Moira she had stopped crying.  
Everything was ready, and it was time for the funeral procession to  
begin. Scott had a brave smile on his face as he gave Moira a kiss  
on the cheek. She was momentarily disappointed, then overwhelmed  
with relief, when she saw that the Majestrix Lilandra had chosen  
Christopher Summers to be her escort for the funeral. Scott hugged his  
father, then Alex hugged his father, and it was a wonderful thing to see,  
so Moira hugged Sean and started to cry again. She quickly calmed  
herself as everyone began to take their positions. Scott was to walk at  
the head of the coffin, borne on the shoulders of the four pallbearers;  
Hank McCoy, Warren Worthington, Bobby Drake and Alex Summers.  
  
    Moira and Sean, arm in arm, followed the coffin directly.  
Behind them were Lilandra and Christopher, followed by Gabrielle  
in the company of Piotr Rasputin, and finally Ororo and Logan. No  
music was playing as they progressed through the assembly, but  
everyone knew to fall silent.          
  
    They were all there. Excalibur, Generation X, X-Force,  
X-Factor, as well as the Fantastic Four and members of the Avengers.  
All friends, and in some sense, all family. The progression reached  
the front, and everyone was seated.  
  
    "This is a colourless show," muttered a voice in the right  
ear of Alison Blaire. She peered around to see a man who looked  
unnervingly similar to her lover, except her lover was sitting beside  
her, holding their daughter in his arms, and besides, this man was  
younger and his hair was redder and his star was much darker.  
  
    "It's a funeral," she whispered back, offering no further  
explanation, then adding; "You're Shatterstar, right? From the future?"  
  
    Shatterstar went pale as he realised who he was talking to.  
"Oh. You are Dazzler, of the House Celebre. Forgive me, I did not  
recognise you."  
  
    She glanced at him, then at Longshot, and not for the first  
time felt she was missing out on something. Longshot smiled and took  
her hand. Longshot then turned to face Shatterstar, who immediately  
averted his gaze.  
  
    "If we do our job well, Shatterstar, we will ensure your future  
does not come to pass," he claimed.  
  
    "Yes, my lord," said Shatterstar.  
  
    They all sank back into their seats. "Weird kid," said Alison  
under her breath. "Thank God we had a girl."  
  
    A few seats along from Shatterstar sat Tabitha Smith and  
her fiance Sam, who had an aisle seat. He was taking advantage of  
this, scouring the crowd for faces, familiarising himself with the ones  
he didn't know so well. "Wow. That's Captain America over there. And  
there's Reed Richards. I hope I get a chance to talk to him later on."  
  
    "You're slipping into dumb hick mode again Guthrie," warned  
Tabitha. "Why d'you always go stoopid around other heroes? You're as  
good a man as any of them. Stop it."  
  
    "Yeah, but everyone is here."  
  
    Tabitha went suddenly quiet, which was not in character by  
any stretch of the imagination. Either she was thinking, or she was  
chewing gum.  
  
    "Tab?"  
  
    "Uh-huh?"  
  
    "You about to blow a bubble or something?"  
  
    "Huh? No. You're right, everyone is here. I wonder..." And  
then she trailed off. It was spearmint. Meanwhile, the minister stepped  
up on to the podium and began his mass.  
  
    "Do we have to sit through this?"  
  
    "Hush little snowflake."  
  
    "Little what?"  
  
    "Snowflake. I always call you that."  
  
    "Well don't you think it's time you grew out of it?"  
  
    Piotr frowned. "Illyana, this is the funeral of a great man. I  
would like to hear his mass."  
  
    "You're an atheist."  
  
    "Be quiet."  
  
    The minister spoke to them about God and heaven, about  
love and loss, and about life and achievement. It could have been about  
anyone. When he was finished, Sean Cassidy took the stand to deliver  
a more personal eulogy.  
  
    "I would like to begin," he said, "with my own version of the  
lives of the saints.  
  
    "There once was a man named Charles the Good, and he  
was a king, and he was aptly named, for he devoted himself above  
all other things to the welfare of his people. Then there was Saint  
Francis, a man who lived his life amongst the outcasts, ministering  
to their needs. And then there was Saint Xavier, a scholar and a  
missionary, travelling to the very edge of the world to spread word of  
his message of peace and love.  
  
    "We are here today to remember a man named for all three  
of these saints; a man who shares great qualities with each of them.  
However, Charles Francis Xavier would be the first to admit that he was  
no saint. Indeed, he would say that he was no better than any other man.  
That was, after all, the lesson of his life. All people, irrespective of race,  
gender, politics, creed, status, sexuality or ability were to be accorded  
equal respect and afforded equal dignity. All people without exception.  
  
    "Now, Charles Xavier was a visionary. His gift, his brilliant  
scientific mind, coupled with his tremendous humanitarian heart, allowed  
him not only to understand the nature of human mutation, but also to set  
him off along the course he was to follow until the day of his tragic death.  
He was a crusader. He believed with absolute certainty that a person born  
with an exceptional genetic structure, a "gift" which they had no choice  
but to accept, should not be hated, alienated or enslaved by the rest of  
humanity.  
  
    "Of course, all of you know his dream well enough. Many of  
you fight for it yourselves. We are here not to remember the dream, but  
to remember the dreamer. It is easy for any man to live in one world  
and conceive of another, but it takes a great man, a courageous man, to  
actually try and build it. That is what sets Charles Xavier apart from the  
rest. He has not survived to see his dream become a reality, which is a  
terrible shame, but thanks to his dedication and foresight there is now a  
whole team of people willing to carry on the work to his plan. He is the  
architect, and he has bequeathed us his design; his vision. He has  
given us the future.  
  
    "Looking before me now, at all of you, I can see a whole  
mosaic of friendly faces. The diversity of faces, voices, attitudes and  
histories is quite amazing. What unites you all is Charles himself.  
You will all have your different impressions of death, your own ideas  
about what lies beyond it, and I think Charles would be delighted to  
know that all these ideas stand shoulder to shoulder, respected and  
unashamed, at his own funeral. In all of you we can be assured that,  
in one sense at least, he will have life after death. His dream will live  
forever.  
  
    "Now I would ask you all to take a moment to reflect and, if  
you so wish, to pray, as Rahne Sinclair reads from the psalms, after  
which we shall all walk down to the cove."  
  
    Rahne stepped up to the podium and took a long nervous  
breath to steady herself. She glanced down at the bible in front of her,  
then proceeded to recite the psalm from memory.  
  
    "Behold, how good and pleasant it is  
    For brethren to dwell together in unity!  
    It is like the precious ointment upon the head,  
    That ran down the beard,  
    Even Aaron's beard:  
    That went down to the skirts of the garments;  
    As the dew of Hermon,  
    That descended upon the mountains of Zion:  
    For there the Lord commanded a blessing,  
    Even live for ever more."  
  
  
    Then the pallbearers resumed their positions around the  
coffin and began to take it down towards the lake. This time the entire  
congregation followed in an orderly fashion and in silence, and they  
took their places on the water's edge. There were gasps of astonishment  
as the coffin began to drift out over the water, floating above the surface  
on a telekinetic wave, as if on some ghostly Viking ship. Then the waters  
rose in two twisting corkscrew ribbons around the water, and flames  
began to spout between them. It was the most incredible spectacle - the  
walls of water formed into glistening ice, and behind them the fire glowed  
as the body of Charles Xavier was consumed by the unique funeral pyre.  
Then suddenly the waters burst up through the ice chamber, dowsing the  
flame, shattering the ice, dragging the ashes unseen into the lake itself.  
A moment later the waters calmed, and the ceremony was over.  
  
    Gabrielle Haller watched on stoically, her tears rolling gently  
down her cheeks. Lilandra was equally silent, and her eyes were tightly  
closed. According to the tradition of her people she could not weep yet,  
and was to use this time to remember the life that had been. Only Moira  
was open in her remorse. Sean held her tight as she wept and shook.  
  
    When the funeral was over the people began to make their  
way slowly towards the hospitality tent. One of the first to get there  
was Warren, who quickly poured himself a large glass of Bourbon  
over ice.  
  
    "Warren?"  
  
    Without turning, he poured another glass out and threw in  
another handful of ice, then passed the glass to Charlotte. "As far as  
I can recall you've only met the Professor once," said Warren. "What  
are you doing here?"  
  
    "I was part of his Underground. Besides, I respected the work  
he was doing. You know that I've always been on his side, Warren. Your  
side." She paused, grasping for something original to say. "So...how have  
you been? I mean, since the... since he died?"  
  
    "I'm planning to go back into the city," replied Warren. "Hodge  
did a good job of wiping out Worthington Enterprises a couple of year  
back, but I've had some projects in the works since then, and there are  
a number of long term investments that Hodge couldn't touch that are  
just now going to bear fruit. I should be keeping myself busy." He  
gulped down the whisky. "And you? How have you been?"  
  
    "Not so well. I've become too wrapped up in my work since  
Timmy was murdered. There was a memorial service a couple of months  
ago."  
  
    "I know. I'm sorry I didn't come."  
  
    "Perhaps you could take some flowers to his grave. That  
would be a nice gesture."  
  
    "Of course."  
  
    She put down her empty glass. "Good. I'll see you around  
then, I guess."  
  
    "Sure."  
  
    On her way out of the marquee she passed another uncomfortable  
reunion. Alex said hi, Lorna said hi, then neither of them knew what else  
to say. Their relationship was in limbo, because they both needed their  
space, and they both wanted time to think, and for a hundred and one other  
reasons that neither of them could actually remember or validate as they  
stood here face to face. Of course, neither of them would be the first to say  
so either.  
  
    "So are you going to visit me up at the asteroid?"  
  
    She smiled. "Not very convenient is it? You'd better come visit  
me instead. Once I'm settled down again."  
  
    "Yeah. Okay."  
  
    She glanced over his shoulder. "Your dad's over there. I think  
he wants to talk to you."  
  
    "Oh. Do you mind?"  
  
    "No. Of course not." He smiled, couldn't think of anything else  
to say, and went over to join his father and brother. Lorna smirked and  
bit on her knuckle. "Aw gee Jim-Bob, can I see you after math?" she  
whispered in a mock-Kentucky accent. "Oh he is such a sap. And so am I.  
God!" She went inside to get a drink, and get out of sight of the Summers  
boys reunion.  
  
    "Alex! It's good to see you son," said Chris Summers, giving  
his boy a hug.  
      
    "It's been a while Dad. I'm glad you could make it."  
  
    "Wouldn't have been able to if it weren't for Lilandra. I'm glad  
she agreed to bring me along. She can't travel offworld for the next few  
days, as part of the ceremony, so I should be able to stick around. I'd  
like to spend some of that time catching up with my boys."  
  
    "There's a lot to catch up on," said Alex.  
  
    "Too much," said Scott solemnly. "It'd be nice if you and  
Rachel could get to know each other a little better too." He cast a glance  
at Rachel. She was sitting on the grass with Logan, talking to him  
earnestly. Her arm was around his shoulder, and he was staring off  
across the water. Scott had no idea what they had to talk about, but it  
was obvious that they didn't want to be disturbed.  
  
    Alex was also looking around. Brian was talking to Betsy,  
Sam to Paige, Illyana to Piotr, Raven to Kurt, Theresa to Sean and  
Wanda to Pietro, though these last two were interrupted by Emma  
Frost, who seemed to want a private word with Wanda. "Nothing  
like a death to bring the family together," observed Alex.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 The poor inhabitant below  
 Was quick to learn and wise to know,  
 And keenly felt the friendly glow,  
 And softer flame;  
 But thoughtless follies laid him low,  
 And stain'd his name.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Continued in part 3.  
  
\---------  
  
 Pietro Maximoff:  
  
    Wanda has changed. Now there is a stupid observation.  
Wanda has been reduced to the age of eighteen by Apocalypse in an  
attempt to make her more susceptible to becoming his pawn. I should  
be grateful that the change only went so far. Still, there is something  
wrong with her thinking. Her mind has regressed with her body, and  
she lacks the wisdom and experience that the years had once given  
her. It worries me. She has already spent time in the unsavoury  
company of Victor Von Doom, and I hardly think Emma Frost is a  
better role model. I must look out for my twin sister. Especially as  
she is now half my age.  
  
    How strange, though, that this should seem the least of  
my problems at the moment. It is not enough that my daughter is  
dying, but now I have to come to terms with the fact that my father  
is apparently not dying. He has the future on his side again and I  
dread to think what he intends to do with it. Sean Cassidy seemed  
to think Charles Xavier's greatness was a worthy thing. I have first  
hand experience of the folly of great men, and I tend to think they  
are overrated.  
  
    My father in his "greatness" managed to get people killed.  
Charles Xavier was not much different; stoking people up with the fire  
of his own overzealous dreams, sending people out like cannon  
fodder to give their lives in another man's cause. All those heads  
laid on the line. Of course, it is not the crusade that bothers me. It is  
the leaders whom they insist on making gods. No man should be  
admired so strongly. If I had not fallen under my father's spell and  
joined his Brotherhood I would never have had the rest of my life  
taken over by this damned fight. From the Avengers to X-Factor to  
this, it's all the same fight. Great men are poison to a normal  
existence.  
  
    If Fabian Cortez weren't dead already...  
  
    If nothing else at least I can be sure that I will never become  
like my father. I have stepped over that line once before, when my wife  
betrayed me and I was pushed over the boarders of insanity to work  
with the likes of Zodiac and the Communist super-agents. I thought I  
could proclaim myself as the new king of mutantkind, as my father had  
done before me. Cortez tried to persuade me that this was indeed my  
legacy. I don't agree. Egomania need not be an inheritable trait.  
  
    Look at them all. Blind sheep. Is it really my place to remain  
among them? People like Scott Summers grew up in this way of life.  
Betsy Braddock and Warren Worthington, they threw themselves into  
the lives of a hero even before they met Xavier and his school. Some  
of these people are so altruistic that it scares me. A whole army of  
great men and women in the making. That is all the world needs.  
  
    There are a few I can trust to remain sane, I am sure. But  
then, even Storm seems a little more erratic lately, and she used to  
be the strongest of them all. Admirably so. She has been a very good  
friend to me in the recent weeks. Patient. I wish I could be so patient.  
I must remember to return her kindness, and watch that she return to  
her old self.  
  
    I must watch them all. If I must live, even die, for this fight,  
then I must ensure it is fought for the ideal and not the idealist. We  
need passion and fire to carry us through, but it must never consume  
us.  
  
    And on the subject of consume, it would appear everyone is  
occupied in the marquee. Oh. Not quite everyone. A few remain outside.  
We few, we sane few, are here to face the sober world.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight,  
 Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay  
 Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
 And you, my father, there on that sad height,  
 Curse, bless me now with fierce tears I pray.  
 Do not go gentle into that good night.  
 Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Katherine Pryde:  
  
    I see there are still one or two people out here. Kurt, Sean,  
Hank. I'm not alone. Shame, I was hoping for some time to myself.  
Perhaps if I avoid eye contact and head off around the lake I'll get my  
chance.  
  
    The lake looks really pretty. It's so strange being back here  
again. I don't live here anymore, on Xavier's land. None of us do. I guess  
this might even be the last time I come here. That's an idea that might  
take some getting used to. This was my home for a long time. Or it felt  
like a long time.  
  
    I wonder what would have happened if I had still been living  
here? I guess I could have saved the Professor; I could have phased  
him out of harm's way. Maybe. Not that it's my fault. It's not like "darn,  
I left the mansion ages ago but I should have just known to come back  
last week for no reason whatsoever". I hadn't even spoken to the  
Professor in a while. Not that we were ever like best friends or anything.  
I remember when I first met Kurt he really scared me, because he looked  
so weird. What I never told anyone was that the Professor scared me  
nearly as much, and at least I got used to Kurt.  
  
    Where's Pete? I bet he's knocking back the free drinks in a  
corner of that marquee. Sidled off to let me be alone, bless his tarred  
little heart. He never even got to meet the Professor, but I just know  
they would have really, totally, completely hated each other. I guess  
that proves how far I've drifted. Or else how much I've grown.  
  
    It's so strange, to think that the whole of the rest of my life  
will go by and someone will actually be missing. Like ordinary people.  
That sort of thing just never happens to us though. My two best friends  
in the world, Rachel and Illyana, I lost them both, and now they're both  
back here today. Even Kurt and Peter were pretty close to death after  
the Morlock massacre, but they came back. I came back. I keep thinking  
they'll always come back. I guess not.  
  
    Speak of the devil, there's Peter up ahead, gazing out across  
the waters. I don't think he's seen me, which is just as well. I mean, he's  
still my friend and everything - I hope - but I can't face him right now. It  
would all get heavy and emotional, or worse, we'd be polite and pretend  
nothing had happened, and I couldn't stand either of those options right  
now. I'll just start walking back.  
  
    I feel a bit sick. Kinda like my stomach has been gouged out  
and pumped full of air. Like a big hungry nothing is trapped inside of me.  
I'd better go back and sit down somewhere. I guess I'm just feeling a bit  
more overwrought than I thought I was. About the Professor, I mean.  
  
    He had the biggest impact on me. I've seen pretty much all  
there is to see in a few busy years, but nothing, and no-one, has ever  
inspired me the way he's done. He made me who I am. The world won't  
seem the same without him.  
  
    Thanks Chuck.  
  
    I'd better find that no good cancerous boyfriend of mine. He's  
probably swearing at Senator Kelly and trying to seduce Betsy Braddock.  
Pig. Bless him.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 The ship is anchored safe and sound, it's voyage closed and done,  
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;  
  Exult O shores, and ring O bells!  
   But I with mournful tread  
    Walk the deck my Captain lies,  
     Fallen cold and dead.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Piotr Nikolevitch Rasputin:  
  
    Oh good, she is returning to join the others. I do not think I can  
speak with her at the moment. I do not think I can face any of them. I  
betrayed Xavier and all of the X-Men, and I do not deserve to walk among  
them now. I lost one family, and turned my back on another. That was  
wrong. Now I do not know where I should be. I believed so strongly in  
the dream, and then abandoned it. I suppose the death of my sister, and  
the damage incurred at the hands of the X-Cutioner, those were my  
undoing. Together they pushed me over the edge. I should... I should...  
  
    This is a truly beautiful landscape. I spend too much time  
looking at the people to ever notice the land.  
  
    No. The brain damage is a poor excuse. I should never have  
left them. This was never about me, or about Charles or Magneto or Illyana  
or Kitty. None of this is about any one person. It is about all of us. It is  
about the world. Under Exodus the Acolytes were little more than a  
self-serving cult, and in their company I was willing to forget the world.  
That was a terrible mistake.  
  
    I would not even be back here now if it were not for Charles.  
When Sally and I left Muir Island I do not think either of us thought we  
would be back amongst the X-Men again any time in the near future. It  
was only when I heard the news of Xavier's death that I decided to  
come back to the mansion, and now that I am here it appears the dream  
has entrapped me once more. I shall never leave.  
  
    I should make some sketches. If they do not intend to rebuild  
the mansion then the X-Men will not be returning, and I may not see this  
land again.  
  
    I would like to go back to Britain with my sister, but I do not  
think that it is wise for Katya and I to be on the same team. Nor will  
there be a place for me on Scott's team, for I would prefer to put some  
distance between myself and Magneto and his offworld asteroid. I hope  
Ororo will be able to find a place for me.  
  
    But then, I never did conclude the business that took me away  
from Muir in the first place. I still do not know if anyone survived the  
destruction of the Savage Land. The area has been made unapproachable  
thanks to the high radiation levels, but I have done all that we can to try  
to locate survivors. I must not give up on that search.  
  
    I suppose this means I am still limited in my perceptions. I  
am thinking not of the world, but of myself. Yet this means the world  
to me. I must know for certain if Nereel and Peter survived. They must  
have survived.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 And the wild regrets and the bloody sweats,  
 None knew so well as I;  
 For he who lives more lives than one  
 More deaths than one must die.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Valerie Cooper:  
  
    What time is it? I should call in, see if there are any messages.  
  
    I really must speak to Senator Kelly before I go anywhere. All  
we've done is exchange pleasantries, but I think we should have a  
proper conversation, given my position and his... disposition.  I seem to  
be spending most of my time here being harassed by National Security  
Advisor Gyrich, and I'm sure there are more constructive uses for my  
time. A minute or two with the Genoshan, Dr Majcomb, that might prove  
useful. Perhaps a few words with Sam Guthrie about the activities and  
whereabouts of his erstwhile leader Cable would be fruitful. I could do a  
little networking with Ambassadors Haller and St Croix, or smooth the  
waters between myself and Captain America. I wonder if the Avengers  
present today intend to be the new team? All veterans, I see. That's  
reassuring.  
  
    Really, if I have to spend all day at the funeral of a man I did  
not know - a great man, of course, there's no questioning that - then I  
should at least take advantage of the time.  
  
    I'm going to get a glass of water. I wish I wasn't driving, I  
could use something stronger.  
  
    So, Charles Xavier is dead. Nice funeral, good turn out. All  
these mutants though, and recognisable X-Men at that, I should think  
at least one of those media vultures outside might have put two and  
two together and worked out exactly how close to the X-Men Xavier  
actually was, and just how "gifted" his youngsters actually were. That  
would not be good news for the Massachussets Academy. Hopefully  
no-one will actually work out that Xavier himself was a mutant. That  
would do his cause no good at all. He would be labelled as a deceiver  
by the anti-mutant lobby, and technically they would be correct.  
  
    Come to think of it, I don't think dying will do his cause  
much good either. After all, who will replace him? Someone must step  
in to fill his shoes. Wheelchair. Whatever. Someone must take his  
place on the world stage, especially with all that has happened lately.  
Anti-mutant feeling is at a high at the moment. It may not take much  
to tip it over the edge into riotous hysteria.  
  
    I don't see anyone here today that could really make a  
worthy successor. McCoy, Cassidy, Summers, those would be the  
top three candidates, and all of them have too much on their hands  
already. If no-one emerges it could damage their fight more than  
anything Magneto or any evil mutant could do. The ramifications of  
Charles Xavier's death go well beyond the personal feelings of loss  
these people are feeling. We have a potential tragedy in the making  
here. All for the want of a little posturing, a little speechmaking, a  
little grandstanding.  
  
    Oh yes. Senator Kelly. I almost forgot.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 A little rule, a little sway,  
 A sunbeam on a winter's day,  
 Is all the proud and mighty have  
 Between the cradle and the grave.  
  
 - - - -  
  
 Logan:  
  
    "Everyone was too busy grievin' or pretendin' to grieve  
to notice me slipping out of there on my motorbike. I couldn't stick  
around after what Rachel told me. Besides someone should be here  
with you today. Chuck ain't the only one we lost last week, and with  
all due fairness to the old man, he didn't mean nearly as much to  
me as you do Jeannie.  
  
    "I know you can't hear me. I know you're not really here  
now, that this is just a shell being kept alive for the sake of that kid  
inside of you. All the same, I've got to talk to someone, and I figure  
you're the one. Maybe your ghost'll be around to hear me. Y'see,  
what Rachel told me this afternoon, it concerns us both. You n' me.  
What could have been. She told me we were her parents. You and  
Scott were the couple in her world, just like in this one, but over  
 there, you n' me, we had a kid. Jesus Jeannie, we were together.  
Maybe only for one night, but we were together like we've never  
been in this world. Maybe we could have done more. Maybe in some  
world we could have been together. Maybe in this world.  
  
    "She's a good kid. Overstepped the line once, and I had  
to pull her back, but she's still a good kid. I guess even then I was  
feeling like I had a responsibility to her. A hard, bad father. I mean,  
there was always something about her. Enough fire to be your kid,  
but way too much to be Scott's.  
  
    "Don't worry Red, I'll look out for her. Her and this next  
kid of yours. With parents like the ones he'll get, he's going to need  
a guardian angel. While I'm at it, I'll try to find out what really happened  
to Cable. Knowing him, he'll only be as dead as he feels. I'll look out  
for all of 'em Jeannie. All our children.  
  
    "I'd better take some time out from the team though.  
Everyone needs room to get settled, an' I'm so jumpy I'd only get in  
the way. Besides, there's always things I could be doing. The people  
that did this to you Jeannie, we gotta keep tabs on all of them. I feel like  
the bad guys are winning right now, and we're nowhere. That ain't right.  
  
    "You n' me. We coulda taken them all, right? You n' me. If we  
coulda been together we could have solved everything. The world would  
be perfect right now, if we could have been together.  
  
    "Christ Jeannie, I'm crying so hard and all I want to do is just  
take you in my arms, like it was all alright, and there was no-one in the  
world but us. I'll just have to settle for kissin' you. I wish you were able  
to kiss me, but that ain't gonna happen. Not to this poor excuse for a  
man. What would you ever see in me, eh Red?  
  
    "I love you Jeannie. I'll see you around."  
  
 - - - -  
  
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
 I summon up remembrance of things past,  
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.  
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,  
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
 And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,  
 And moan th'expense of many a vanished sight.  
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,  
 Which I new pays as if not paid before.  
    But if a while I think on thee, dear friend,  
    All losses are restored and sorrows end.  
  
 - - - -  
 End.  
 - - - -  
  
 The poetic quotations used above belong, respectively, to the following  
works and authors:  
  
 Immortality - George William Russell  
 Requiem - Ralph Waldo Emerson  
 The Shapes Of Death - Stephen Spender  
 Extreme Unction - Ernest Dowson  
 Margaritae Sororis - William Ernest Henley  
 Psalm 133 - Hymnal of the Jewish Church (Psalms)  
 A Bard's Epitaph - Rabbie Burns  
 Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night - Dylan Thomas  
 O Captain! My Captain! - Walt Whitman  
 The Ballad Of Reading Gaol - Oscar Wilde  
 Grongar Hill - John Dyer  
 Sonnet XXX - William Shakespeare  
======================  
  



	40. X-Saviours #1

    X-Writers is a non-profit making organisation. Many of the   
characters and locations used in this story, and many of the plots   
referred to, are trademarks of Marvel and protected under  
copyright.  
  
 ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ----  
              X-Saviours      
             Issue 1 of 8     
 ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ----  
       The Island Of Dr Moreau.  
 ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ---- -- ----  
      Written by Andrew Wheeler.  
    -- ---- --  
  
  
 All over the world, people are suffering. All over the world there   
are people who need saving. This is the story of Genosha, the island   
with an accursed history; the island with an artificially high   
population of mutants, a population created by the machinations of   
Dr David Moreau and his otherworldly Mephistopheles, the Sugarman,   
who based his vile works on the atrocious designs of a sinister   
geneticist called Nathaniel Essex. Genosha had one of the strongest   
economies in the world, based on it's mutate slave industry. Now the   
slaves are free, and the nation is poor, and the citizens have been   
fighting a difficult and terrible war against each other and the state.   
The people of Genosha are suffering. The people need saving.  
  
 On the edge of Genosha's capital city stands a hospital, St Saviours.   
It is where the mutates go to die when they catch the terrible plague   
known as the Legacy Virus. It is there that a group of scientists are   
convening to work together to beat the plague, to solve at least one   
of Genosha's many problems. Dr Michael Craner is from a wealthy and   
respectable Genoshan family. Dr Renee Majcomb is also Genoshan by birth,   
and comes from the opposite end of the social scale. Dr Alice Yeung is   
a researcher from Hong Kong, and has developed a strong dedication to   
the fight against Legacy. Dr Moira MacTaggart has very personal reasons   
for wanting the disease wiped out, for she is the first human victim.   
Finally, there is Dr Henry McCoy, and he is a mutant and a hero.   
Together, they intend to save the world.  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    Doctor Michael Craner sat in the morning traffic tapping on   
the steering wheel and listening to the radio.  
  
    "And there's congestion in Hammer Bay around the Stamford   
Circle area, so commuters are advised to stay clear," said the voice   
of the breakfast show DJ.  
  
    "Thanks," said Craner wistfully.  
  
    "But if you're already stuck out there somewhere, here's a   
little something to ease that frustration."  
  
    Already the first chords of Gershwin were rolling out to fill   
the car. Summertime, and the living is easy. Anything but. In fact,   
Michael Craner knew that life in Genosha had not been easy for a very   
long time. For him it had been, maybe, when he'd been a kid. Seven   
years old, before David Moreau emerged as Genosha's first Genegineer,   
and the changes began to take place. Before Genosha became paradise   
for the ignorant, and hell for anyone with eyes to see and a conscience   
to feel. Seven years old and living in luxury on Connaught Hill with his   
beloved mother, whilst his father went off every day to attend important   
meetings at the Citadel and Government House. That was the idyllic life   
of the only child of one of the elite houses of Genosha. Well, now the   
paradise was lost. There was no ignoring the facts anymore. Genosha was   
rotten to the core. All the rats had been flushed out, and had left their   
sinking ship, but still the island showed no signs of a swift recovery.  
  
    All the rats. Cameron Hodge had been deposed by the X-Men and   
his puppet president imprisoned for crimes against humanity. Genegineer   
Moreau, once thought dead, was now also safely locked away just outside   
Hammer Bay. Fabian Cortez had died in the sewers, Genegineer Ryan had   
been exposed as a traitor and incarcerated, Sugarman, Holocaust,   
Sinister; all of them were gone. It was time for the people to reclaim   
the nation. All they had to worry about now was disease, recession and   
terrorism.  
  
    And the living was easy.  
  
    People were beginning to shout from their car windows. What's   
the problem? Some of us do have work to do y'know? Come on, move it   
up there! Replies came back from all directions. I don't know, ask a   
Magistrate. God knows Anderson puts enough of them on the streets. I  
 hear there's a bomb scare. Christ's sake, what now? When's it going to   
end? Bloody mutates.  
  
    Craner raised his eyes to heaven, or at least to the roof of   
the car, where the sunroof had been in the old car, back when being a   
doctor at St Saviour's was like being handed a blank cheque from the   
treasury. Now he was in charge of St Saviours and he couldn't even   
afford to keep a cat at his apartment. Just as well since he never   
had time to sleep at home. Most nights were spent at the hospital,   
watching mutates die of Legacy. It was typical that on one of the few   
times he actually did decide to go home at night he should get stuck   
in traffic on the way back. Maybe he should just move in to St   
Saviours full time, like Alice and Renee.   
  
    Of course, it could be very different. He could have his own   
helicopter if he wanted it. He could have a cat too. The cat could   
have a helicopter if he felt the need. All he would have to do is   
accept President Anjou's offer to become the new Genegineer. He   
couldn't help feeling that Renee Majcomb was the better candidate,   
given all her political experience, but Anjou had said that was   
precisely why she was unacceptable. Thus it fell to him to decide   
whether or not he wanted to become one of the most important people   
in all of Genosha. Wealth, power, respect; what more could he want?   
So why couldn't he say yes?  
  
    Then the traffic moved, but not forward. Somewhere up ahead   
along the street, a building exploded, tossing the cars into the air,   
ripping a new hole in the city. A plague of dust, a rain of glass;   
apocalypse in Hammer Bay. Or just another terrorist act. There were   
screams everywhere; people shattered by the impact, crushed by   
masonry, shredded by a thousand bursting windows.  
  
    Craner's own window was a jigsaw. It hadn't collapsed in   
on him, and he wasn't about to wait for that to happen. He grabbed   
the medical kit from under his chair, piled out of the door, reached   
for the mobile from his pocket, and pressed the speed-dial button   
to reach the hospital. As he shouted above the noise of the awful   
cries to the first staff nurse to answer him, a man with blood   
streaming out from the glass splintered pits where moments ago his   
eyes had been came toppling towards him. A woman yelled out; "Abby!   
My little girl! Has anyone seen my little girl?". The skeleton of   
the bombed building began to topple down into the street. Craner   
cursed, screamed "just get here" into his telephone, then threw it   
to one side. There was too much to do.  
  
    In his car Sarah Vaughan was still singing. "One of these   
mornings you're gonna rise up singing, then you'll spread your   
wings and take to the sky..."  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    Doctor Alice Yeung very nearly dropped her danish pastry   
as seven Magistrates stormed past her. "Good God, where's the fire?"   
she asked.  
  
    "Someone just blew up Stamford Circle," called back the last   
Magistrate, doing his duty, happy to oblige. He looked about eighteen,   
and bubbling with enthusiasm, though he surely couldn't be that young,   
not with that gun he was carrying. Alice stood in shock for a moment,   
tried to work out if she knew anyone near Stamford Circle, shook her   
head, then carried on towards the arrivals lobby.  
  
    She stopped again and looked back at the racing law enforcers.   
Where were they going? Stamford Circle was in the heart of Hammer Bay,   
and Marmande Airport was two miles outside the city. Of course!   
Security checks. Well, it was bound to cause all sorts of problems   
which would hold her up and keep her away from where she could be of   
use. Genosha was like a well oiled machine. It had broken down years   
ago, but they still kept it well oiled.  
  
    "Alice!"  
  
    She span around and came face to face with Dr Henry McCoy,   
X-Man, Avenger, genius. "Hank!" She smiled and threw her arms around   
him. He inhaled sharply and drew her off. "Oh, sorry. That was stupid   
of me."  
  
    "It's okay," said Hank, "The burns are healing up now. Anyway,   
the pain will go after a few tequilas. That is the tradition, right?"  
  
    "Not at this time in the morning it isn't. Besides, we haven't   
the time. We have to negotiate our way past security and get ourselves   
to Mercy."  
  
    "You mean St Saviours?"  
  
    "Mercy is closer to where the bomb went off," explained Alice.   
"Get your bags, we have to move."  
  
    "Bomb?"  
  
    "Welcome back to Genosha."  
  
     -- ---- --  
  
    "Caiman, speak to me!" screamed Ward, head of the Blackfriars   
Resistance, entrenched behind his desk in the dead and empty library,   
their headquarters in the ghetto. His feet were up on the desk, his   
left hand clenching a cigar, his right a telephone receiver. If Dr   
Majcomb had been there she might have observed that he looked for all   
the world like a newspaper editor from a fifties movie.   
  
    To his right sat his right hand man, the diminutive Pistol,   
with an earphone jammed in one ear and a Roddy Doyle novel open on his   
knee. "Tyburn is on line four," he announced.  
  
    "Hold on Caiman," demanded Ward. Pistol reached across to the   
telephone and switched buttons. "Tyburn, speak to me my boy! Where are   
you?"  
  
    "Where do you think? Stamford Circle, cordoning off dead   
bodies," replied the Magistrate. "I'm on an abandoned car phone. I   
thought you'd like to know who we think did this. It was the HGA."  
  
    "Human Genoshan Army? There's a step up for those bastards.   
What did they bomb?"  
  
    "Mutate family tracing agency. Set up by the Department for   
Mutate Affairs to help reunite separated mutates. Seems like a pretty   
vindictive target."  
  
    "Heartless bastards in the HGA. So is this all confirmed?"  
  
    "Totally unofficial, and you didn't get it from me. Gotta go.   
Have to start pretending we're in control of the situation." Tyburn   
hung up. Pistol reached over again and hit the button to put Caiman   
back on.  
  
    "So Caiman, who's the Times going to blame this on?"  
  
    Pistol frowned wearily and turned the page.  
  
    -- ---- --   
  
    Jenny Ransome used to be a fragile, gentle girl with a soft,   
gentle face and beautiful long brown hair. As she grew older she   
became a fragile, gentle young woman, but according to the Genoshan   
government of the time, that was a mistake. The gene-tests showed   
that she was a mutant, and like all mutants she was to be turned   
into a slave for the State, with no freedom of will, no freedom of   
identity, and no rights whatsoever. Her father had been in a position   
of some authority, and managed to cover this up, and another girl had   
died because of it, because ordinary humans could not survive the   
genemod process. Jenny had escaped, briefly.   
  
    In the end they tracked her down to Australia, where she   
was working with a pilot named Madelyne Pryor. The Press Gang brought   
them both to Genosha, and the X-Men followed, turning the country   
upside down. They were too late to save Jenny. They took that poor   
young woman and twisted her powers, so that where once she had been   
able to heal with her touch, now she had been given the strength   
to crush rocks and drive earth. All she wanted was to help, and   
they had made her into something that would destroy. She was no   
longer fragile or gentle. Her face and body were harder, more   
weathered, more brutal than before, and even her hair would not   
grow back to it's old length.  
  
    Inside, however, she remained the same. Jenny Ransome who   
wanted to help. Now she was a member of the Coalition Government,   
a non-elected body that was supposed to be rebuilding the nation   
in it's time of crisis. They had very little support. If it were   
not for Chief Magistrate Anderson, using the full strength of her   
Magistrates to give the nation some illusion of stability, they   
might have no support at all. They were too inclined favour   
humans in the eyes of the mutants, and too inclined to favour   
mutants in the eyes of the humans. It seemed like an impossible   
task.  
  
    All the same, Jenny felt she was very fortunate that in   
her position as joint Minister for Mutate Affairs with her human   
lover Philip Moreau she might actually make a real difference.   
There were mutates out there whose minds had been taken out from   
their own control, and whose skin would always bear those awful   
dehumanising numbers in the form of tattoos on their faces.   
Attempts to reverse genemod had only gone as far as to remove   
the vocal control programming, and still they remained branded,   
bonded, broken and violated, and worse, many of them feared they   
would never be able to have children and start families of their   
own. If equality was to be given to Genosha's mutate populace, the   
genemod process would have to be fully undone.  
  
    For this reason she and Philip had come today to visit   
Philip's father, the first Genegineer, Dr David Moreau, back from   
the dead and a willing prisoner of the state. Jenny sat in the guest   
lobby at the Park Manor Long Term Holding Facility - a prison by any   
other name - watching pictures of rescue attempts and fire fighters   
at Stamford Circle. Philip returned to the room with a crash of fury,   
slamming the door hard against the wall.  
  
    "The old bastard," he yelled. "He refuses to help."  
  
    "Why?" asked Jenny, tearing herself away from the television.  
  
    "He says he's already done too much to Genosha. He wants to   
rot quietly in his cell and never have to think about the outside   
world again." Philip sank into a chair and rested his head in his   
hands.  
  
    "Don't sit down," said Jenny. "The president wants us back   
at Government House for an emergency session."  
  
    "Great," muttered Philip. "More talk."  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    Early the following morning. Dr Renee Majcomb had been the   
only senior staff member at St Saviours all night. She'd had a call   
from Alice and Michael around midday yesterday, telling her they   
would be staying at Mercy to help out. Fortunately, not too many   
people had been redirected to receive attention at St Saviours. They   
didn't have room. Besides, no-one likes to be sent out to a plague   
hospital.  
  
    Renee stared at her sleepless complexion in the silver base   
of the bedpan in her hand. She couldn't remember ever having seen   
peace. Unlike Dr Craner she was not from a privileged family. She had   
grown up poor. She had struggled through medical school, and had almost   
been thrown out on a number of occasions for her activities as one of   
the more radical figures in student politics. Upon graduating in   
biogenetics and finding herself a "respectable" job, she still didn't   
quieten down. She joined the Bipartisans, an underground movement   
made up of scientists, lawyers, social workers and mutate rebels,   
such as the Blackfriars Resistance. The Bipartisans aimed to expose   
the inhuman activities of the Government, as soon as they could   
gather solid evidence. She did quite well within the organisation,   
rising to a position of some authority. She did well enough that   
they arrested her, more than a few times, and once even gave her   
the facial tattoos she still wore to this day, which labelled her   
as a political insurgent.  
  
    Of course, things changed. They got a little better, when   
the X-Men did the Bipartisan's work for them and eliminated Hodge,   
but then things got a little worse, because not all the demons had   
been evicted. In the new atmosphere of open hostility between   
mutates and humans, the Bipartisans formed a Rebel Battalion,   
intending to use force to expose whatever horrors the Genoshan   
establishment might still be responsible for. In Renee's eyes this   
had seemed a good idea, especially when they had exposed the plague   
pits, where Genegineer Ryan and others had sent hundreds of Legacy   
infested mutants to die without treatment. Then the other groups got   
organised. The BRB wasn't the only freedom group on the streets, and   
not everyone had the same idea of freedom. The street warfare was   
ascending to new levels, and to Renee's shame, there was nothing   
she could do to persuade her people to withdraw. In the end she went   
to Ward at Blackfriars and he helped her flee to the States and seek   
help there in the fight against Legacy.  
  
    Now she had come back to Genosha, not to be with the BRB in   
Prenova, but to join the St Saviours staff in the Roharte Hills   
outside Hammer Bay. It made her feel slightly middle aged. She wasn't   
quite the radical she had been in her youth. Then again, there was   
still that side of her that ached to march on Government House and   
throw the Conservatives out into the gutter. She still believed that   
actions spoke louder than words - and she would never get rid of   
those tattoos.      
  
    She heard a car horn beeping outside, and went to the nearest   
window. Doctors Craner, Yeung and McCoy were back at last. "Hello   
again Dr McCoy. I hear you've had a typical Genoshan reception."   
  
    "Brick dust, blood and plastic explosives," replied Hank.   
"I would have settled for a cup of tea."  
  
    "Well, it kept him out of trouble," claimed Alice. "How   
were things here, Renee?"  
  
    "Quiet, compared to what you've been through," said Renee.  
  
    Hank passed his eyes across the tired building, aged beyond   
it's years. Several boarded windows, bullet holes in the masonry, a   
huge incendiary burn on the left side which he couldn't remember   
seeing before, and graffiti everywhere. "The only good mutie is a   
dead mutie", "Mutants are the plague, Legacy is the cure", "Legacy   
is God's punishment", and, above the main entrance, covering the   
St Saviours sign, was the legend "X-Men Go Home".  
  
    "How long has that been there?" asked Hank. "There hasn't   
been an X-Man in Genosha for months."  
  
    "That's how long it's been there," replied Craner. "Sorry.   
There's never any time to clean off the graffiti, and as soon as   
we do it all comes back."  
  
    "Ah well," sighed Hank. "It can't be helped. Not on an   
empty stomach, anyway. What's the canteen serving this morning,   
Renee?"  
  
    "How are you at cooking, Hank?" she replied.  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    The Muir Island Research Facility, home and hearth and place   
of work for Dr Moira MacTaggart, Nobel prize winning geneticist,   
first human victim of Legacy, and maker of the worst coffee in the   
entire northern hemisphere - soon to be maker of the worst coffee   
in the entire southern hemisphere. As the members of British   
supergroup Excalibur enjoyed breakfast, Moira was packing for her   
big move.  
  
    "Are you taking all your yellow jumpsuits with you, Moira?"   
asked Kate, poking her head around the half open bedroom door and   
knocking gently.  
  
     "Oh, come in Kate," sighed Moira as she searched the higher   
recesses of her wardrobe. "No, I dinnae think I'll need many of them   
in Genosha. Too hot a place in the summer for all that insulation."  
  
    "How long will you be gone?" asked Kitty as she perched on   
the end of the bed and began taking a proprietorial interest in   
Moira's black bag of discarded clothing. "And do you really not   
want these leather boots?"  
  
    "Oh, I see how it is," smiled Moira. "Ye've nae come to   
wish me well, ye've come to steal my cast offs. Go on, take them.   
They never much suited me anyway. And I can't rightly say how long   
I'll be gone. It's not going to be a quick fix, that's for sure.   
To be honest with you Kate, there's a good chance I won't ever be   
coming back."  
  
    "You'll come back, Moira. I know you will."  
  
    "I certainly hope so."  
  
    Kate stood up to look out of Moira's window, towards the   
facility itself. "What's to happen with all of this whilst you're   
gone?" she asked.  
  
    "I've been through all that with Kurt. The people here will   
keep it running. We owe that much to Charles. Still, all the serious   
work will be on Legacy, and we'll be dealing with all that at St   
Saviours."  
  
    "What about the Acolyte? Carmella Unuscione?"  
  
    "She's coming with me. She's stable enough to travel, and   
the Moonlight Flit is a smooth runner," claimed Moira. "I'd rather   
look after her myself. Her techno-organic infection is a serious   
condition, and I think the people in Genosha can better deal with   
it than can my people here. In the meantime, you just watch Douglock   
doesn't go infecting anyone else."  
  
    "I'm sure he won't. He doesn't even understand how he came   
to infect Unuscione. He says his powers don't work that way," said   
Kate. She turned around and suddenly flung her arms around Moira.   
"I'm really going to miss you, y'know? It's not going to feel right,   
you not being here."  
  
    "I know, Kate. I'm going to miss all of you as well. Still,   
'tis a far far better thing I do now than I have ever done before.   
None of us want a repeat of what happened to poor dear Illyana and   
the others. Now, go get Kurt to make sure the Flit is primed for my   
flight. I'm going to have to be out of here within the hour if I want   
to get to Hammer Bay by their lunchtime."  
  
    Reluctantly, Kitty left the room. Moira walked over to where   
she had been standing, to her bedroom view along the coastline of the   
crescent island, towards the research facility, and gazed down at the   
cold waves crashing against the craggy rocks. This was home, and for   
all she knew she might never see it again.  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    "She's on her way," claimed Dr Craner as he rushed into the   
ward where Alice Yeung was doing her rounds. "She'll be here any   
minute."  
  
    "Who are you talking about?" asked Alice.  
  
    "MacTaggart."  
  
    "She can't be. She's not due to arrive until after lunch."  
  
    "Alice, it is after lunch. Some of the patients in here are   
still eating theirs. What did you think that was? A late breakfast?"  
  
    "Oh. Time flies when you're administering medication, as   
the old saying goes. Well look, I'm pretty busy up here. You go   
down to meet her, I'll say hello when I've a chance to catch up,"   
said Alice. Craner stared at her in suspicious silence. "What?" she   
asked.  
  
    "What year was it that you and your husband were tipped to   
win the Nobel prize?"  
  
    "I can't remember," claimed Alice, focusing her attention   
on a patient's chart in her hand.   
  
    "And what year did MacTaggart win?"  
  
    "I have no idea," said Alice distractedly. "Did she win one?   
I never follow these things."  
  
    "Liar." Craner strode across the ward and grabbed Alice by   
the arm. He started to pull her away.   
  
    "Let me go!" complained Alice as she dropped the chart and   
tried to anchor herself by grabbing a metal bedstead, to the   
amusement of the patients in the ward. "I don't want to meet her.   
I'm busy. I've dropped my chart. Let me go."  
  
    "Nurse, pick up that clipboard and prise Dr Yeung's   
fingers off that bedstead," ordered Craner. The nurse at the other   
end of the ward came over to oblige him.  
  
    "Damn you, Michael, you can't make me do this," muttered   
Alice as she lost her grip and was dragged into the corridor. "You   
bastard! Let me go!"  
  
    "That's no language for a lady."  
  
    "I'm going to kill you!"  
  
    "It's my hospital. You do what I tell you," he goaded   
mischievously. "Now, will you come peacefully or do I have to carry   
you?"  
  
    "You'd break your back," claimed Alice. "Damn it, I'll come   
on my own." He released her arm, and at once she started to bolt off   
down the corridor. She ran straight into Jenny Ransome, and bounced   
back onto the floor. "Ow. Sorry Jen."  
  
    "That's okay, I barely felt you," said Jenny, helping Alice   
to her feet. "Where were you headed in such a hurry anyway?"  
  
    "You take her left arm and I'll take her right," grinned   
Michael. "She's refusing to come along and receive Dr MacTaggart."  
  
    "Ah good, me too," said Jenny as the two of them started   
to march Alice towards the stairs.   
  
    "Bastards," muttered Alice. As they reached the lobby they   
met up with Dr Majcomb in conversation with Philip Moreau.  
  
    "It looks like we may have reached a turning point," claimed   
Renee. "What with Dr McCoy arriving yesterday and Dr MacTaggart today,   
if ever there's going to be a cure for Legacy, here's where we'll find   
it."  
  
    "Perhaps there will also be a chance that your combined   
talents could attempt to undo the genemod process as well," added   
Philip. "If I can't persuade my father to help, then I'm sure I can   
at least rely on all of you."  
  
    "Of course," agreed Renee. "Incidentally, where is Dr McCoy?"  
  
    -- ---- --  
  
    Henry McCoy stood atop a ladder in front of the hospital doors,   
a bucket of paint removing solution hooked onto the side, and a fierce   
scrubbing brush in his hand. He had already wiped out most of the   
graffiti around the door, and now he was working on the "X-Men go home"   
over the top of the brass "St Saviours" sign. He'd managed to wipe out   
"Men go home" by the time he heard the hum of the Moonlight Flit coming   
in to land. He dropped the brush into the bucket and jumped down from   
the ladder. He was just peeling off his rubber gloves as the rest of   
the welcoming committee came outside to join him.  
  
    "Here she is," said Hank.  
  
    "Fabulous," muttered Alice.  
  
    The sleek black medical jet touched down gently, and the   
ramp door descended. Dr Moira MacTaggart appeared out of the   
shadowy darkness.  
  
    "I just love this machine," she said proudly. "Hello   
there Hank!"  
  
    "Hello Moira. It's good to see you again."  
  
    "Under much better circumstances than last time," agreed   
Moira. She clasped his hands and kissed him on the cheek. "Dr Majcomb,   
Mr Moreau, Miss Ransome, good to see you all again. And a pleasure to   
meet you, Dr Craner, Dr Yeung."  
  
    "Pleasure's all mine," said Dr Craner warmly, shaking her hand.  
  
    "Ma'am," whispered Yeung with a discreet curtsey. Craner   
kicked her in the shins. Alice scowled at him, then silently came   
forward to shake hands, before sinking to the back of the crowd   
again.  
  
    "Well, I must say you're looking a fair bit more bonny   
than you were, Hank," claimed Moira. "This place looks much like   
I'd imagined it, though. Ah. So this is where we'll all be working,   
is it?" She cast her eyes over the fallen grace of what once had   
been a clinic for the wealthy elite of Genosha, and was now the   
farthest thing from it. Then she spotted the name above the door,   
and smiled. "Now there's a name I approve of," she said with a nod.   
They all turned to follow her eyes, and there, emblazoned for all to   
see in brass and spray paint, was a new name for the hospital;  
  
    X-Saviours.  
  
    -- ---- --  
Next: Take a tour of the internal workings of Genosha with Dr Craner,   
and become a little better acquainted with our magnificent medical   
team, as we explore "The Body Politic".  
    -- ---- --


	41. X-Men #58

X-Writers is a non-profit organisation. Many of the characters and  
   places featured in this story are copyright of Marvel Entertainment Group.  
  
 <=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=>  
  
  
                        X-Men #58 - Family Reunion  
             (or: Things To Do In Antarctica When You're Dead)  
                 ** this issue takes place after events **  
                        ** in Generation X #19 **  
  
                 Written for the X-Writers by Marty Blase  
              Flashback to X-Men #50 written by Chris Delaney  
  
  
 <=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=>  
  
=== Sauron's Citadel, The Savage Land ===  
         === two months ago ===  
  
    Magneto watched as Jean turned away and faced the Shadow King.  He could  
feel her mind spilling into his as it cocooned him from the dark power that  
sought him so desperately.  He realised what she was doing too late to have a  
prayer of stopping it.  She had never been completely free of the Phoenix Force  
and now she called it to herself.  
  
    *NO!  There has to be a better way!*  
  
    *It's too late Magnus.  You're all but dead and I can't keep this up... too  
much of me wants to go back... too much of me enjoyed being free and  
uninhibited... but it wasn't freedom... it was the worst form of slavery....*  
  
    *We'll find another way.*  Magneto struggled to gain his feet but his body  
felt leaden.  The virus had almost completely run it's grim course and he had  
strained himself too much recently.  He felt the power envelop her and was  
astounded at how powerful she really was.  Then she struck.  Helplessly, he  
tried to intervene, to lend her psionic support, to save what could be saved.  
  
    The form of the Shadow King evaporated, boiled away by a telekinetic fury  
capable of destroying a sun. There was a dim wailing on the astral plane as the  
darkness that had shrouded it faded and it became light once again. There was a  
dim feeling of triumph in Jean. She had, beyond all hope, overcome her dark  
side and triumphed against the Shadow King.  
  
    *JEAN!* He could feel her mind winking out as the burned out neurons  
failed, one by one.  No mortal mind had ever been made to hold the power of the  
Phoenix, no mortal mind.  The energy form of the Phoenix rose from Jean's  
mindless body and, just for a second, seemed to be looking, searching for  
something.  Then it sped off into the distance.  Lost to sight.  
  
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=== Asteroid M, two hundred and fifty miles above the Earth ===  
                   === this afternoon ===  
  
    "You mean, this was it?"  
  
    Rachel Summers gently dropped a pair of duffel bags and a small cardboard  
box that she had been carrying telekinetically as she stepped out of the  
airlock. Asteroid M had it's advantages, she reflected, but transportation  
wasn't one of them. As its only resident capable of unaided spaceflight, she  
had volunteered to bring them and their luggage aboard rather than try and  
salvage a working shuttle from Asteroid M's docks for the task. Fortunately,  
the task had only taken two trips. Breathing deeply, she rubbed her short red  
hair vigorously with both hands. After all that, even recycled air smelled  
good.  
  
    "That's it, Rach," Scott said as he shouldered the larger bag and lifted  
the smaller. Alex stood nearby to take the remaining box in both hands. "I was  
rather surprised myself, to be honest. I'd thought there would be more of my  
stuff left at the Mansion, but the battle damage didn't leave much to be  
recovered. I'm surprised we had this much."  
  
    Alex tested the weight of to box he held. "I'm surprised myself, Scott.  
This was all you could find between the Mansion and the boathouse that you  
wanted to bring back?"  
  
    "I didn't want to take anything from the Mansion. Seemed like graverobbing,  
somehow, after Charles' funeral. And I left most of... of *our* things in the  
boathouse. What you've got there is just mine."  
  
    Solemnly, Scott walked on down the hall. If he expected his younger brother  
to follow him, he didn't say so; Alex stood where he was until Scott rounded  
the corner, then turned to Rachel. "He didn't want *anything* of Jean's with  
him up here?" he asked.  
  
    "Apparently not. It looks like he's trying to put everything from his life  
at Xavier's behind him, and that includes his late wife."  
  
    "Don't say 'late'. She's not dead yet, you know."  
  
    "She's a body without a mind, Alex, kept on life support only for the sake  
of the baby she's carrying. That's dead, as far as I'm concerned."  
  
    "No need to be so cold about it."  
  
    "I'm not being cold. I've always been the practical type, you know that."  
  
    "Tell me about it. Where's our latest houseguest, by the way? Didn't she  
come up with you?"  
  
    "Skids, you mean? Sure, I brought her. I rendered her unconscious when we  
travelled through space, same as I did with you two. She's still in the back of  
the airlock...."  
  
    "Ohhhhhhhhhh...." came a feminine voice from behind her.  
  
    "...and it looks like she's recovering nicely. Excuse me." She turned  
around and raised her voice a little. "Skids? We're here. Come out and meet the  
gang."  
  
    A young blonde-haired woman emerged from the airlock, rubbing her eye with  
one hand while gripping a backpack with the other. "What'd I miss?"  
  
    "Well, I lied about the 'gang' part," Rachel answered. "There's just Alex  
here now, and you already met him...."  
  
    Skids blinked hard and looked at Alex, then abruptly stopped still. "Um...  
well, I've seen him, at the funeral I mean, but I don't think we ever actually  
got introduced...."  
  
    Rachel looked apologetic. "Didn't you? I'm sorry. Skids, this is Alex  
Summers, Scott's brother. Alex, meet Sally Blevins, better known as...."  
  
    "Skids," she interrupted as she leaned forward to shake his hand. She  
smiled broadly as they made eye contact. "Just Skids, please. I haven't gone by  
Sally in years, and I'd like to keep it that way."  
  
    "Fine by me," Alex said with a polite smile of his own. "Welcome to  
Magnus's own castle among the stars, the one and only Asteroid M."  
  
    "I... I mean, thanks. It's nice to be here. I think. Um, where will I be  
staying? This is all the stuff I have, here in my bag, and I figured I'd  
just...." She laughed a little. "Well, wing it from there. Rachel said that  
everything I'd really need would be available up here, food, clothes, all  
that."  
  
    Alex adjusted the box in his hands. "She tells the truth. C'mon, I'll show  
you where you can make your room. There's only six of us living here, and about  
ten times that much living space, so we've all set up in the same wing. It's  
right down this hall." He turned and proceeded in the same direction Scott had  
just gone.   
  
    "Go on ahead," Rachel added. "He can show you the way just as easily as I  
can. I'll go ahead and tell Magnus you're here."  
  
    "Thanks, Rach. I appreciate all of this." She watched Alex until he was out  
of earshot, and then whispered, "That's Scott's *brother*? How old is he?"  
  
    "Alex? I dunno. Mid to late twenties, I think. Why?"  
  
    "Well, he's kinda... well...." She bounced on one foot briefly. "*You*  
know."  
  
    "What, tall? Blonde? Goofy? A little too partial to wearing black?"  
  
    "No, I mean, he's really... kinda...." She winked, and smiled.  
  
    Rachel screwed up her forehead. "Who, *him*?"

  
\-------------------------------  
  
    Marie Watson was keeping her own company just outside the Asteroid. She'd  
been spending a lot of time out here lately -- becoming an astral ghost after  
her body was killed by Sugarman (X-Men #55) meant that Magnus didn't have a lot  
of practical use for her. Sure, she didn't need to breathe or wear a pressure  
suit out here, and she could travel literally anywhere on the planet at the  
speed of thought. But not being able to pick up so much as a pencil or even  
give a farewell hug to her cousin had a way of tipping that scale back the  
other way.  
  
    She was always something of a private personality, she reflected. So being  
out here while the others finished moving in wasn't all that awkward. They'd  
understand, after all. What could they possibly want her inside for right now?  
All she could do is talk and listen, and they'd just act like she was being in  
the way.  
  
    Besides, it was so beautiful out here. When you're is restricted to using  
eyes to see, you get the light and that's it. Space looks big, but empty. But  
with her astral perceptions, every point of light and drifting atom of hydrogen  
created a crystalline pattern that filled all of reality. Solid objects were  
denser, more rigid, but the atmosphere of Earth could erupt in a kaleidoscope  
of natural and supernatural colours, just by subtly shifting her mental "view"  
of it.  
  
    Look, there's Antarctica. Just as an example. Normally a dead and lifeless  
continent, but from her unique vantage point there was so much more to see....  
  
 <=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=><=>  
  
    Alex and Skids, with Rachel following behind, finally arrived at the  
residential wing. Skids was expecting to see Scott there, but not the old man  
he was speaking to. Magneto? Chatting with Scott Summers of the X-Men? Skids  
shook her head -- she was being ridiculous. Scott had told her he'd been up  
here for a while, living on Avalon with Magnus and the others before Magnus had  
rebuilt it and rechristened it as Asteroid M. From all the things Magnus had  
said about Xavier's X-Men when she was an Acolyte, though, it was still rather  
unexpected. Just one more thing to get used to, she supposed. At least there  
wouldn't be any of the philosophical arguments she'd been awaiting with fear.  
  
    "Skids," Magnus said to her as she approached. "It's good to see you again.  
I hope your return trip was a pleasant one."  
  
    "I... yes, yes it was. Thank you, sir." She was taken a little aback by  
this sudden courteousness. Just one more change to get used to, she figured.  
But certainly one of the more unexpected ones.  
  
    "Call me Magnus now, please. I may be your landlord, but that's the only  
relationship we'll have from now on. That is, unless you're willing to count me  
as a friend as well."  
  
    Unexpected wasn't the half of it, Skids thought. "Well... yes, of course,  
sir. Magnus. Sorry." She smiled, despite herself.   
  
    Magnus returned the smile politely. "Friends it is, then. And thank you."  
He looked at the others. "Well, then, since all your things are already here, I  
suppose I'll leave you to your moving in. I'll have dinner ready in the kitchen  
in, say, one hour?"  
  
    "We'll be there," Scott answered. Magnus nodded and walked off.  
  
    "It's going to take a while to get used to seeing him without his powers,"  
Skids said to Rachel after he'd left.  
  
    "And his pretentiousness?" Rachel added with a smirk.  
  
    "I wasn't going to say that."  
  
    "You didn't have to, it was written all over your face. That's okay,  
though. He *has* changed since you last saw him, quite a lot. I'll let you ask  
him about the details in your own turn. But give yourself enough time, there's  
a lot of ground he'll have to oohhhhhhhhhhhh...." Rachel swayed a little,  
holding her head.  
  
    Skids tried to hold her steady. Scott and Alex put their things down as  
well. "What's wrong?" Skids asked. "Are you okay?"  
  
    "Yeah, I'm fine." She stood up straight and opened her eyes again. "Just  
a... I don't know. It keeps nibbling at the corner of my telepathic senses,  
whatever it is. I'm not sure what it is. Every time I try to get a bead on it  
it drifts away again."  
  
    "Something on the Asteroid?" Scott ventured.  
  
    "Something outside, I think. It's like the Asteroid keeps drifting through  
it and back out again. I'll be fine, just need to buff up my tepe shields a  
little more to keep it out."  
  
    "If you're sure, then," Scott said. "Hand me that box, Alex?"  
  
    Alex gave it to him and they went into Scott's room together. Skids turned  
to look at Rachel again, and saw her with her eyes pinched shut in  
concentration. "Rach?" she asked. "What is it? What's going on?"  
  
    "I just felt it again, in my head... like it was trying to grab on to  
something in my mind before it drifted off again...." Her brow furrowed as she  
concentrated harder. "Strange, it feels so... familiar... I think it's trying  
to bring up specific memories of... mine...."  
  
    "What kind of memories?"  
  
    "Don't know exactly, they keep fading... they're like images of fire, or  
light, or...."   
  
    A long pause. "Or what, Rach?"  
  
    Rachel's eyes snapped open. "The Phoenix...." she whispered.  
  
    Skids looked confused for a second. "What phoenix?"  
  
    Rachel didn't answer. An instant later a bird of fire erupted around her  
body and she was flying down the corridor, past the bedrooms and toward the  
airlock at maximum speed.  
  
    "MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!"  
      
\----------------------------  
  
    Two minutes later, Rachel Summers was swearing intensely at a computer  
panel. Unlocking the airlocks was normally easy enough for a telekinetic, but  
this time the Asteroid's computer was being less than cooperative.  
  
    "Dammit, you stupid machine, just *open* already! Or I swear I'm going to  
go outside my own way and let you deal with the explosive decompression  
yourself...."  
  
    "At least have the courtesy of giving it a chance to explain itself first,"  
came a voice behind her. It was Scott, slightly out of breath after running  
halfway across the Asteroid after her. "I told the computer to lock down all  
the airlocks as soon as you flew out. Knowing some of your past... tantrums, I  
figured it would be best to get an explanation before letting you fly out there  
on your own."  
  
    "Scott, I... I'm sorry." Rachel took a deep breath and powered down. This  
hadn't been a tantrum, she almost said. But it had been close.... "Look, I just  
needed to... check something. *Please* let me go out there. It might be too  
late...."  
  
    "Rachel, we heard what you shouted as you flew down the corridor. Is it  
Jean? Did your telepathy pick up something from all the way down in New  
York?..."  
  
    "Not New York, Scott. Below us, just now. In Antarctica."  
  
    Scott was flabbergasted for a second. "You... you mean where she died?"  
  
    Rachel took another slow breath and tried to explain herself. "I've been...  
feeling something from there, Scott. When I reclaimed my share of the Phoenix  
power, I took on some of its memories as well. I think that... something of  
Jean is still out there, over Antarctica, and she's trying to grab hold of the  
Phoenix in my mind."  
  
    "But what for?"  
  
    She shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't been detecting any thoughts  
from her, nothing coherent. Not even emotions or instincts, just a...  
sensation. I'm sorry, Scott, there aren't any adjectives to describe it. It  
just *feels* like her."  
  
    Scott considered this. He knew that Rachel, besides being Jean's daughter  
from a future timeline, was a phenomenal psi in her own right. She had always  
been emotionally reactive where her family was concerned, but she wouldn't try  
something like this unless she was sure of what she was doing. Finally he said,  
"All right, you can go looking. But on two conditions."  
  
    Rachel had been afraid of this. "All right, what are they?" she said,  
exasperated.  
  
    "First, you're not flying around out there. Anything might happen to your  
body, and none of us have the power to save you if you get into trouble."  
  
    "I flew two trips to Earth and back, Scott, I can handle...."  
  
    "And second, I'm coming with you."  
  
    Rachel blinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
    "Those are my conditions," Scott said simply. "You have more than enough  
psi power to go out there with your mind only, on the astral plane, and keep  
your body safe back here. And I also know you have enough power to bring me  
with you."  
  
    "Scott, I... I'm not sure I can protect two of us on the astral plane if  
anything...."  
  
    "Rachel!" Scott cut her off sharply. Rachel's mouth remained open for a  
second before she closed it. She said nothing, indicated nothing. She simply  
glared at him.   
  
    After taking a deep, calming breath, he continued. "Rachel, if it is Jean  
out there, somehow holding on after her own death, then I want to go out there  
to see her, too." Scott met her eyes and held his breath. "She may be your  
mother, but she was my wife. Please, Rachel."  
  
    It was the first time Rachel had ever heard Scott say "please" for  
anything. And suddenly she realized he was right. Besides, arguing about this  
would take far too long, and their orbit was moving further away from  
Antarctica every minute. "Fine, you've got a deal. You ready to leave now?"  
  
    "Just as soon as you are."  
  
    Suddenly Alex and Skids came jogging around the corner, stopping short when  
they saw the two of them talking calmly. "Well?" Alex asked. "Is everything all  
right now?"  
  
    Scott and Rachel looked at each other. They looked at him. "Alex," Scott  
said, "would you mind if we asked you to watch something of ours for a little  
while?"  
  
\------------------------  
  
    Marie Watson saw the two of them as they slipped free of the Asteroid and  
drifted through space toward the Earth below them. She saw, but she didn't move  
toward them. She could tell even from this distance who it was, and she assumed  
it was a family issue that she should stay clear of anyways.  
  
    Although, she did finally concede, they were probably getting a better look  
at the lightshow over Antarctica than she could from here. Darkness and light,  
flowing in and out, in fragmented patterns like she had never even seen....  
  
\----------------------  
  
    "Can you pick up anything more, Rachel?"  
  
    "I'm picking it... her, up more often, Scott. But not really more *of* her.  
It's like a drizzle of rain that's gotten just a little bit denser, but it's  
still drizzle."  
  
    The two of them had been drifting far above the Antarctic landscape in  
their astral forms, slowly spiraling closer to the sky over the Savage Land.  
Scott had already suggested descending to the surface, but Rachel said she had  
a better sense of Jean up here. "It's like an explosion of psionic energy had  
gone off far below," she had told him.  
  
    The astral plane was just as beautiful as he remembered it, from the few  
times he had been here before. It looked to him like the two of them were  
flying through the middle of an aurora borealis. He could see colored clouds of  
light flashing past just beyond his line of sight, the glowing beacons of  
sentient minds in the cities far over the horizon. But somehow, it all seemed  
like so much dull distraction this time, like a movie a friend wants to watch  
with you for the one-hundred-and-first time in a row.  
  
    Scott clipped off that train of thought quickly. Thinking negatively wasn't  
going to accomplish anything now. He was feeling irritable, he admitted to  
himself, but that was primarily out of boredom. He didn't realize until now  
just how much work Rachel had to do to get even the vague glimpses of Jean that  
she had felt.   
  
    He didn't know why he had gotten his hopes up. Face reality for once in  
your life, he told himself. Jean was gone, she was dead, and from the look of  
things even her astral self was too scattered to even be called....  
  
    "Scott."  
  
    He didn't look around. "Find anything yet, Rachel?"  
  
    "No, Scott," she repeated, "that wasn't me."  
  
    He turned around very, very slowly.   
  
    "Jean?..."  
  
    Rachel shook her head. "I mean.... yes, it was *me*, but I wasn't... Scott,  
I think that was what Jean said to me. Your name."  
  
    Scott tried hard to keep his hopes in check. It took nearly everything he  
had in him. "You mean... you can...."  
  
    "I've been trying something a little different, Scott. When I was aboard  
the Asteroid, it felt like the... the 'particles' of Jean's mind were being  
attracted to the Phoenix's memories in my own head. I've been letting them come  
as we descend, and gently... carefully, holding them in."  
  
    "I don't think I understand."  
  
    "I'm sorry, Scott. It's hard to describe. Think of the Phoenix itself is a  
kind of glue, something that the pieces of Jean's mind can hold onto. More of  
them are coming together now, and faster than before, like a star building up  
gravity...."  
  
 ------------------------  
  
    Marie moved a little further away from the station to get a better look at  
what was happening below her. Before it had just been the colors, flowing like  
jetstreams in the clouds, but now they were spiraling together toward a common  
center, getting brigher as they flowed inwards.  
  
    It was centered, she noticed, very close to the area where Rachel and Scott  
had vanished from sight. Over Antarctica.  
  
    But Marie knew Rachel could control the colors, no problem. Whatever she  
was doing, she was an experienced enough psi to know how to go about it. No,  
that wasn't what was concerning her.  
  
    It was the darkness....  
  
 ------------------------  
  
    "It's beautiful...."  
  
    Scott couldn't think of anything else to say. He watched entranced as a  
phoenix firebird blossomed up from Rachel's open palm, and then as the points  
of light began to appear around it and drew themselves toward it. The firebird  
wasn't growing visibly, but it glittered all over as one after another the  
points of Jean's consciousness came in contact with it.  
  
    Rachel had been worried that Jean's mind might try to reestablish itself  
inside of her own, so she removed a fragment of the Phoenix force from herself  
and placed it outside of her own astral body. As they watched, the drifting  
fragments of Jean's mind passed by it, and seemed to catch fire, before falling  
into the firebird like meteors in the atmosphere. They were approaching  
infrequently, now, but steadily.  
  
    "I just hope this works the way I think it will," Rachel said uncertainly.  
"You know I've never tried anything like this before, Scott."  
  
    "I doubt anyone has, Rachel. Just keep doing what you're doing. I trust  
you."  
  
    "Yeah, well, that makes one of us."  
  
    Scott didn't want to make her nervous, but he thought it prudent to make  
one more suggestion. "Do you think we should move around to try and catch more  
of the drift, Rachel?"  
  
    "I don't think we'll have to. I can feel the growth of her 'self'  
increasing now -- I think that the part of her that's been collected so far is  
calling out to the rest of the fragments, somehow, and drawing them in toward  
her."  
  
    "So she'll be whole again?"  
  
    "I didn't say that. Just that she'd be recollected. Whether she'll be  
coherent is...."  
  
                                   I... am....  
  
    Scott froze. "Did you hear that?"  
  
    "I think so...."  
  
                      Yes you... did... I am... here....  
  
    Scott looked at Rachel. Rachel looked back at Scott. Neither one wanted to  
say a word or even make a move. Finally Scott moved down, carefully, trying to  
peer inside the firebird in Rachel's hand in hopes of seeing something,  
anything, there. "Jean, can you hear me?"  
  
         I... can... hard to... listen... or think... I... can't....  
  
    "Then don't say anything, Jean. Just keep trying to pull yourself  
together." He held his breath and glanced up at Rachel again. "Will she get  
better?" he whispered.   
  
    Rachel shrugged. "I don't know," she mouthed back.  
  
    Scott frowned, then turned his attention back to the firebird. Reassuringly  
he began to speak to Jean, praying that she was able to understand him.  
"There's plenty of time for talk later, Jean. Everything's going fine. Just  
keep doing what you're doing for now."   
  
    Another deep breath. Keep talking.  
  
    "It'll be okay, Jean. It'll all be okay...."  
  
 ------------------  
  
    Marie allowed herself to drift downward a little faster now, but kept her  
distance cautiously. Not out of respect or privacy anymore, that was already  
forgotten. Now, it was out of fear.  
  
    Couldn't they see the shadows?...  
  
 ---------------  
  
                                                           To be continued....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last issue produced of the main arc.


End file.
